


Presque Vu

by asperaadastra



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:46:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asperaadastra/pseuds/asperaadastra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is normal. Papillon is gone, defeated by Ladybug and Chat Noir at the end of their lycée education. Marinette is now a professional in the fashion publishing industry, her Miraculous powers long unused. Her focus is on becoming an exemplary fashion editor, not on akumas or her powers, and not on Adrien Agreste, the childhood crush she hasn't seen in over ten years. </p><p>Marinette's definition of normal is redefined. What once was gone comes back again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in YEARS, but Miraculous Ladybug is so perfectly cute and I can't resist descending into this hell. I plan on making this pretty long, so enjoy!
> 
> Shoutout to [K0bot](http://cat-puns-and-ladybugs.tumblr.com/) for being the best beta ever. ilu boo.

_**Presque vu** (French pronunciation: [pʁɛsk vy], from French, meaning "almost seen") is the intense feeling of being on the very brink of a powerful epiphany, insight, or revelation, without actually achieving the revelation. The feeling is often therefore associated with a frustrating, tantalizing sense of incompleteness or near-completeness._

\---

Marinette was just this side of hysteria, trying her very best not to bite her nails and failing spectacularly. If Alya were there, she would have thoroughly chastised her for potentially ruining her fresh manicure, but the twist of worry in her gut wasn't dissipating. Traffic was at a torturous crawl, and if she ended up late on the first day of her new job, the level of self-flagellation she was going to endure would be enough for her to call HR on herself. She had worked far too hard to get promoted, after years of coffee runs, making copies, and dedicating herself to endless menial tasks to look incompetent and tardy now. Marinette had received a fair amount of congratulatory emails on Friday when the announcement for her elevation to Fashion Editor had gone out, and the last thing she wanted to do was give anyone reason to doubt her qualification because she couldn't manage to be on time her first day. She had _earned_ this, after all.

So, she resolved not to take out her anxiety on her nails, and stared restlessly out the window of the cab as the rain poured outside. Paris was no stranger to gloomy weather, but the downpour had turned the normal morning commuter traffic into a nightmarish snarl of cars. She had hit the snooze button this morning, not realizing how bad the weather was until she had taken her time doing her hair and makeup. Cursing her preoccupation, she had grabbed her usual two purses and an umbrella, hailing a cab instead of making an unavoidably soggy run to the subway station. Marinette had thought the extra expense would get her to work quicker, validating the cost, but being stuck at the same intersection for three lights had disproven her bet rather quickly.

Her gaze tore away from the rain's aggressive staccato against the cab window when her phone - personal, not her work cell - lit up with a notification. _good luck and kick ass today!!_ Lip quirking up at the text from Alya, Marinette tapped in a response. _If I ever get there. Rain is kicking my ass more than anything._

Maybe it was serendipitous that it happened simultaneous with Alya's texts - or just pure dumb luck in action - but the traffic finally started to move, slugging its way past a small accident pulled to the side of the road as Alya's texts continued to demand her attention . _don't tell me you're LATE on your first day as the big boss??_

 _Says the girl who's rarely up this early._ Marinette shot a text back, eyes on the buildings passing by as they finally turned onto her office's street. _At least I usually see this side of noon._ she followed up, smiling in spite of herself.

_caught me. what can i say, i've got a SUPER scoop of an interview this morning. you go have fun being a fancy boss editor, i've got to interview a washed-up pop musician about their latest public meltdown. try not to be jealous._

As the cab rolled up to her building and stopped, Marinette signed off with an approximation, "Have fun, see you later, save the juicy tidbits to share over drinks later xoxo" before hastily reaching into one purse for her wallet, handing over enough euros to cover the cab fare and then some. Taking a breath, she steeled herself before stepping out of the cab, deploying her umbrella and imbuing confidence into her steps as she strode determinedly towards the front door.

The regal Beaux-Arts style building, with its baroque influence and arched windows, was an unusual choice for an office but provided an editorial impact for the magazine-along with the other publications housed there. It was the _same_ regal office building she had entered every morning for the past six years. This time, however, she was walking through the doors as a true stake-holder with real influence on the magazine. After earning her fashion degree, paying her dues at multiple internships while working crappy part time jobs, then paying those dues _again_ at crappy entry-level jobs, she had finally started as an assistant at _Vérité_ magazine. It had taken a lot of lost weekends, skipped plans with friends as she worked late nights, and putting everything on the line for her career to end up here. When Sophia, the former fashion editor, had left the magazine to pursue her passion for the culinary arts, it had left an opening - one that Marinette had been shocked to find she had been recommended for. More shocking was the fact that Camille had accepted the recommendation, and Marinette found herself in the austere editor-in-chief's office one week ago, being told in a tight, controlled tone that she was to be _Vérité’s_ new fashion editor, reporting to the infamously irritable woman herself. 

Camille Sauvageot was everything one expected from the editor-in-chief for one of Paris’ trendiest magazines: she was demanding, she was impossible to please, had mercurial moods, and had impeccable taste. Working for her was just as much of work as Marinette’s _actual_ job, and it was a constant battle to adhere to Camille’s astronomical standards. Marinette felt a knot of anticipatory worry in her chest over having to work with her directly, being the buffer for her team instead of receiving the benefit of said buffer, but this was everything she had been working towards since she had gone off to university.

Since she’d had to use her Miraculous last.

Resting a hand on her second purse, subconsciously attempting to glean strength from the kwami asleep inside, her heels clicked in a determinedly measured tempo on the polished lobby floor as she approached the elevator and punched the button. The lobby's large clock told her it was a few minutes before eight am, and a modicum of tension in her chest released realizing that she was, more or less, on time.

"Marinette?"

Startled, she lifted her hand from Tikki's purse as she smiled at the approaching coworker. "Morning Justine! How was your weekend?"

"Not as good as yours, I bet." Justine came shoulder to shoulder with Marinette, winking at her. The fashion writer was the epitome of cool, dressed head to toe in black with leather accents on her shoulders and down the sides of her skinny black leggings, the blunt lines of her brunette bob as immaculate as ever. She had started at _Vérité_ a few months after Marinette, and the two of them became workplace confidantes faster than culottes had gone out of style. "Hope you got a chance to celebrate, it's going to be a hell of a week."

Biting back the urge to commiserate, Marinette smiled as the door opened, allowing both of them to enter the mostly-empty elevator, with only a few other coworkers on their way up from the parking garage inside. "It'll be fine! We're making good time on the copy, and all of our layouts are in approvals right now. I think we're on track." A week ago, she would have groaned, bemoaning how much she would have to accomplish over the week, but since she had received the promotion she had put aside time to think about how she wanted to act - and into some self-help books on being a good boss, if she was being honest. It wouldn’t do her or her team any favors if she complained about work, the way she would have as a coworker. She had to help steer the ship as much as she could.

"Right," Justine scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Unless Camille sends us into another tailspin of revisions." Marinette shot her a slightly pointed look, reminding her that they weren't alone in the elevator. She hated navigating workplace politics and bureaucracy, but they were both an inevitability. Marinette was known for facing both with blinding optimism, typically a crutch in fashion, but it had somehow served her well enough so far.

The elevator dinged as they reached the editorial floor, and the pair of them headed to where the rest of the fashion department was situated. Only a few days ago, their workspaces were right next to one another, but today Justine arched a perfectly filled-in eyebrow at Marinette, head tilted towards the nearby empty office as she sat down.

"Go on, boss," Justine encouraged, and Marinette shot her a smile as she headed to her new office.

Sophia's things had been emptied out a few weeks ago when she had left the magazine, so the furnishings in the office were sparse. A beautifully rustic looking wooden desk was the main piece, kitty-cornered from the door with one side towards a wall covered in a pin board, free for Marinette to cover with proofs and her own fashion inspiration, the other up against a huge window overlooking Canal Saint-Martin. The office was bright and light, the view was beautiful, and most importantly, it was _hers_ , earned with hard work and sweat and tears.

Exhaling slowly, Marinette sat in the plush chair, blowing up the stray hairs around her face. She had grown out her fringe long ago, her longer, darker strands pulled back into a simple chignon. Even if she didn't feel like she was as confident as she could have been in her new role yet, she had styled herself that morning in a way that felt like fashion armor. Her slouchy black high heel boots led into black pencil slacks, and her high necked, ruffled baby pink blouse was under a military-style blazer with silver accents. That dichotomy between hard and soft influences made her feel pretty and assertive at the same time, and were one hundred percent her style.

She allowed a giddy smile to flit over her lips as she started up her computer, and launched right into her job.

The rest of the morning was a flurry of meetings and furious work at her desk, the preparations for the spring issue in full overdrive. Deadlines for final copy and layouts were fast approaching, and there was no way in hell Marinette was going to let anything fall by the wayside her first issue as a full-fledged editor. By lunchtime, she felt simultaneously wrung-out by the day's chaos and oddly motivated. While the day had been so busy, things had yet to go off the rails, and surviving a few hours into the new role without disaster striking was, in her book, a definite win.

"You need an assistant," Justine called out from her desk as Marinette walked out from her office with her wallet, hoping to grab some food quickly before her next meeting. Sophia's assistant had left to work in beauty upon her departure, leaving another vacancy in their department. That had been one of the best parts of working for Sophia - she raised others up and had been a cheerleader for their department, promoted from within, did all of the things that seemed logical in the world, and impossible once you were in the microcosm of an office environment. Filling the role of a mentor almost felt insurmountable, but Marinette was going to do her damnedest to live up to the precedent she had set.

"You mean _we_ need one," Marinette quipped back, pulling her phone out of her pocket as it chirped at her that she had a new message. "It'd be good to have another person to source some photos for our pastels spread."

Justine hummed in agreement as Marinette swiped the passcode on her phone. As she read who the email was from, she slowed her pace, then came to a complete stop as she gaped at the screen. "I have a meeting with Marchand."

"When, today?"

"No, _now_."

Justine raised one hand in a facsimile of a shrug, and Marinette sighed as she ducked into her office, dropping off her wallet in favor of her work notebook, then headed down the hall towards the elevator, and up to Marchand’s office. Was it a good sign, or a bad sign that she was getting called in to talk to him so soon? She had received a brief, cursory congratulations in passing last week from the bearded man, which was a bit more than she had expected. He oversaw the few publications that were located in the building, largely giving the editor-in-chief for each magazine total oversight over their magazine and handling more on the business relations side himself. Whatever the reason, it _definitely_ wasn't good that this news wasn't being passed down from Camille and was coming from Joseph Marchand directly.

As she approached his office, she saw Marchand sitting in there alone, door closed. Nerves ramping up, Marinette knocked on the door and waited for acknowledgement before entering. "M. Marchand, I'm here for our meeting?" Marinette winced internally at the slightly questioning tone of her voice, rising up at the end instead of projecting the surety she wanted to.

"Sit," Marchand responded gruffly, gesturing to the seat across from him. She took it immediately, one hand clenching the notebook in her lap as the other tucked stray strands of hair behind an ear. "The beauty department is up to date, and I want to ensure you're ready for any changes that might be coming through. I can't say we won't have changes to the spring issue, but I trust that you'll be able to delegate and manage anything that comes through. _Vérité_ has a certain caliber to maintain, and I expect it to stay that way, regardless."

Immediately, Marinette felt like her head was spinning. Changes? What changes? She almost gave voice to that faint thought, but her gaping mouth must have been enough to tune Marchand in. He steepled his hands, a bushy eyebrow raising. "Ah, I'm surprised you haven’t heard, even though the announcement isn't official yet. Camille is out."

And just like that, it felt like the world was set adrift. "What?" The editor-in-chief she had spent the last six years trying to appease and impress was ousted, _gone_ , as was all of the effort she had put into that career relationship. Camille was the one who had approved her promotion. Did that mean she was out too? Was she in danger of being laid off? As her mouth moved soundlessly, trying to figure out what fear to give voice to first as professionally as possible, there was a sharp rap on the door.

"Come in," Marchand called, gesturing to whoever was on the other side of the door to enter. "Marinette, I want you to meet your new editor-in-chief. The situation is a little atypical, but with the spring issue coming up so quickly, we don't have time for the niceties of waiting too long to get him started."

Straightening in her chair, Marinette's head swiveled towards the door, ready to take in whatever new editor-zilla she was going to have to figure out how to appease to best benefit her department. She was internally mourning the loss of years of getting on Camille’s good side when the door opened, and all thoughts simply flew out of her brain, never to be seen or heard from ever again.

"Adrien, meet Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Marinette, M. Agreste our new editor-in-chief, and _your_ new boss."

She was going to pass out.

No, throw up. She was definitely going to throw up.

As her blood pressure and digestive system warred with one another for dominance inside her body, she felt herself blanch on the outside, blood draining from her face. There was no mistaking the man standing in the doorway, lean and fit and looking so, _so_ perfect and pristine in his grey suit, that even a stranger would know he had been a model.

But she wasn’t a stranger. Adrien Agreste, once a renowned child modeling prodigy, then supermodel, now a full-fledged fashion mogul in his own right, was standing only a few meters away from Marinette. He had grown so _tall_ in the last decade, shoulders broader than she remembered from the last time she had seen him. Her head was spinning with memories - their lycée graduation party, the wine and beer and hard liquor their friends over eighteen had gotten for them… Marinette had managed to find and then not-so-delicately leap over that thin line between tipsy and drunk, and by the time she had consumed enough liquid courage to approach Adrien, she needed to put a hand on his arm to steady herself.

That was when she finally confessed how she felt about him, and he replied, chagrined and too kind, that he was going to be leaving France and wasn’t sure when he would return. _If_. Marinette sobbed then, clutching the front of Adrien’s shirt.

 _That_ was the last time she saw him, almost thirteen years ago, and Marinette still cringed when she realized that was how she had closed the chapter on her years of teenage romance.

And now the same man she once utterly embarrassed herself over, the one she’d spent the entirety of her teens fawning and stuttering over, was going to be her _boss_. The rush of memories and sinking realization that she was already set up for failure passed over her in but a moment, and it took all of Marinette’s strength to lift her hand into a shaky wave.

Then again… his face hadn’t yet morphed in disgust as the expected wave of recognition washed over him. There was a slim, tiny, hopefully larger than infinitesimal possibility that she had actually lucked out. Maybe Adrien didn’t recognize her, and she could fly under the radar, keeping her work environment blissfully free of the mortification working for one’s childhood crush would incur. She would know Adrien _anywhere_ of course, having watched his career blossom from a distance ever since she had said her blubbery goodbye at eighteen. But she, on the other hand, had just been a childhood friend who had been too clingy - easily forgotten. 

“It’s nice to meet you, M. Agreste,” she murmured, still stunned. “If there’s anything you need from us, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat as Adrien approached her, long legs making short work of the distance between them. His hand reached for her upturned one, grasping it in a gentle handshake. It was like she had been struck with a tuning fork, synapses firing on all cylinders and tingles zipping up and down her spine. She was hyper-aware of how warm his hand was, contrasted sharply by the cool touch of a ring on his right hand.

“Marinette.” 

So much for being lucky. 

Warmth bloomed on Adrien’s face, a smile curling those sensuous lips as green eyes regarded her fondly, the kind of expression reserved for making someone feel like they were the center of the universe. “No need to be so formal. It’s been awhile, but I’d never forget you.” Marinette felt numb as he released her frozen hand from the handshake, sliding his freed palm into his pocket. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Inside her chest, her traitorous, capricious heart thumped.

She was _fucked_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a big fan of telling rather than showing action, so I'm going to be interspersing flashbacks <3
> 
> Thanks to [K0bot](http://cat-puns-and-ladybugs.tumblr.com/) for being actually the best beta ever!

She couldn’t afford to fall behind, but Ladybug’s legs were burning, exertion wearing her stamina thin. The enraged roar of the akumatized villain several streets away was their guide, and she leapt towards the next rooftop, over-extended muscles trembling as she landed hard, the thump resonating through her legs. Chat Noir reached over to her to stabilize her, hand on her shoulder and grin a rakish reassurance on his face. Feeling a fraction of her exhaustion lift, she steeled herself, standing up straight. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

The akuma they were currently in pursuit of infected a girl at a private lycée who had been humiliated having her secrets gossiped about by her best friend. Once transformed, she became Exposée - with the malicious power to broadcast every citizen’s most shameful secret. Making use of the city’s radio, television, and cell phones, her terrifying power turned Paris into a voyeuristic theater. 

The fight with the transformed girl, in shape of a twisted figure with ribs and heart exposed for all to see, was harrowing. Exposée’s powers depended on some combination of proximity and focus, so all of the citizens of Paris weren’t vulnerable at once, but once her attention was turned on someone, she was able to spew the worst a mind had to offer. Victims she could touch were subjected to worse violations of privacy.

The akuma were more frequent now, becoming more vicious and violent over time. Papillon's frustration with the pair of them and being unable to defeat them was evident in the minions he sent. Gone were the possessed humans who wanted to be the fastest or the prettiest, and in their place were people twisted by their own jealousy and hatred. 

Ladybug and Chat Noir worked together best when they could attack an enemy straight-on, so having to resort to guerilla tactics threw them for a loop. They had to keep Exposée’s attention off of them while they attempted to retrieve the akumatized item possessing her, a note she had passed in class to her friend clutched in one hand, resulting in a harried game of cloak and dagger.

They trailed the girl as she pursued her best friend, intent on advertising every dirty secret this one girl had, when Ladybug saw her chance to make a move. She stood on the roof behind Exposée, readying herself to whip her yo-yo towards her target and yank her arm back, when the girl’s best friend noticed her and started sobbing her thanks. Exposée turned slowly to Ladybug, eyes narrowing in a piercing gaze toward the superheroine. From what they had seen that day, all it took was concentration from the akumatized villain to violate a target’s mind. Ladybug was completely vulnerable, and she felt ice shoot through her system, realizing that at any moment, she was going to be subjected to having all of her secrets exposed. Ladybug tensed for the inevitable attack, but nothing happened. Opening the eyes she'd clenched shut in the last defense she could think of, she saw a telltale halo of violet around Exposée's. That butterfly shape over the face of akumatized victims was the only sign of Papillon's communication to his slaves, and seeing that now made her more fearful than ever before. 

“Ladybug, run!” Chat Noir called out, jolting her, legs shaking as she urged her body to move. Ladybug readied herself to attack, or to dive, to do whatever would get her out of the way of having her secrets told - her identity revealed - when Exposée suddenly scowled harder and turned her attention back to her friend, who was whimpering on the ground. Chat leapt onto the ground, bounding towards the victim to defend her, when Exposée snarled, rearing back. “Stop telling me what to do!” Her howl was dissonant and otherworldly, scraping against Ladybug’s eardrums. It only became clear after a moment of confusion that Exposée wasn’t yelling at any of them, but at Papillon himself. “She’s the one who hurt me! I don’t care about your Miraculous!” 

Ladybug used her yo-yo to swing down to the ground, running towards Chat and the girl he was shielding. They all flinched as Exposée shrieked again, louder, in pain. “Stop hurting me! Everyone hurts me! Alice betrayed me, and you said you would give me the chance to fix it, but now you’re _hurting me_!” The akumatized girl writhed as what seemed to be another wave of pain wracked her body. “ _NO_! If you’re going to hurt me like everyone else, I’ll expose your secrets too!” 

Seizing the moment of control, Exposée lunged towards Ladybug with her free hand outstretched, the other still clutching the note holding the akuma. Gasping, Ladybug flipped backwards, lashing out with her yo-yo to smack Exposée’s hand away. Chat simultaneously grabbed the “best friend” Alice, leaping towards the safety of the next street down.

The akuma didn’t manage to touch Ladybug, her horrible fingers instead clutching at her yo-yo. A flash lit up the magical weapon, and Ladybug reeled it back in, terrified she had somehow destroyed it. Once it was back in her hand, she gave it a quick inspection - it looked perfectly normal, but Ladybug wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to do that again.

“Lucky Charm!” Tossing her yo-yo into the air, she used her final attack, summoning a red and black polka-dotted diary. Chat Noir had returned by then, eyebrow raised in question.

Sometimes it took her a few moments to figure out how to use her Lucky Charm, but this wasn’t one of those times.

“Chat Noir, can you create a distraction?” 

Chat grinned and bowed with a flourish. “Lady, all I need to do is be a fraction of how distracting you are to me.” Baton extending, he ran in the opposite direction as Ladybug rolled her eyes at his flirtatious bravado.

She was accustomed to hearing Chat jeer at akumatized villains when she was trying to think, and this time was no outlier. Her gaze darted around, assessing her surroundings to the soundtrack of Chat taunts. “Hello! Miss Expurrsée, I do believe Alice told me some _very_ interesting things about you! Some of them were pawsitively salacious, would you like to hear them?” With a shout of rage, the girl lumbered towards Chat as he bounded up and down the side of buildings, leading her on in fruitless pursuit. 

Working quickly, Ladybug slung the wire of her yo-yo between two light posts, creating a large slingshot. “Hey, Blabbermouth! I’ve got your secrets right here!” As the akumatized girl whipped her head back to face Ladybug, the heroine pulled back on the slingshot with the book, aiming it over Exposée’s head. “Alice gave me your diary! Catch it if you can!” Letting the wire fly, the book sailed in the air. 

With a yowl, Exposée leapt into the air, hands attempting to grab the diary from mid-air - using both hands. “Chat Noir, now!” Her partner bolted towards the abandoned note as Exposée caught the book, sliding into home base and grabbing the paper. “Score is 40-love, with Chat Noir about to steal a victory!” He wound up and hit the balled-up piece of paper with his baton, popping the note up in an impressive arc towards Ladybug. She caught the note, ripping it in half, freeing its trapped akuma and cleansing it without delay.

It wasn’t until after she threw the fake diary in the air to heal all of the destruction caused that she thought to check her yo-yo again. Chat Noir saw off the recently-healed victim, and frowned at his partner as he returned to her side. “Everything okay?”

Ladybug shrugged, ignoring the initial beep of her Miraculous warning that she only had a few minutes left. “She did something to my yo-yo, but I don’t know what. There was this flash, and…” As she was turning the weapon over in her hands, she slid it into the phone mode she used to track people and call Chat Noir. Immediately, the screen showed the map of the area where they were standing, with a red dot showing their exact location, and a faint purple light pulsing at a fixed point at the edge of the map, aiming towards the horizon like a compass. 

No _way_.

“It’s…” Ladybug swallowed thickly, muddled by disbelief. “You heard what she said to Papillon, right? That she was going to give away his secrets too?” 

Chat nodded, leaning over Ladybug’s shoulder to see the screen. “Of course, I didn’t even need my spectacular hearing to pick up on her screeching. Why?”

Licking her lips nervously, she angled her head towards Chat Noir, faces close as she murmured to him. “I think she gave us his location.”

How could Exposée, an akumatized person, be trusted? What if Papillon knew, and this was a trap? Those were the questions immediately rushing through Ladybug’s mind, but her Miraculous beeped another warning, and she slid her yo-yo shut, heading to the edge of the roof. “Get prepared, feed your kwami and meet me back here tonight at ten,” she called over her shoulder. “We’re going after him. Tonight.” Ladybug took off to a nearby roof, then descended to an alley, Miraculous’ beeping an insistent tempo as she detransformed.

The hours before their meeting time passed in a hazy blur, Marinette torn between anticipatory adrenaline and dread. After Tikki rested, they held a hushed conference in her dark bedroom, the two of them wondering just how much danger they were walking into.

___

The trip back from Marchand’s office was a blur. Marinette had been swiftly excused, leaving Adrien to discuss immediate priorities with him. Numb, she stood up and made for the door, but not before Adrien stunned her once more with that smile and those impossibly verdant eyes as she passed. On complete autopilot, she made for her office without a word to any coworker she passed. Marinette shut her office door behind her once she made it there, allowing herself a modicum of privacy. While she knew having an office all to herself with a door was going to afford her certain benefits, she didn’t realize she was going to need to utilize the option to close herself off from everyone else so soon. She slowly poured herself into her chair, all of the lustre of her new office faded in the wake of the newest shock to her system. 

This was a distraction, and one she didn’t want to perpetuate. Mouth twisting with a scowl, she sat up straight, lifting her head and waking up her idling computer. Throwing herself into her work, the next few hours passed in a blur of her approving copy and giving notes. One of their main features for the spring issue was on pastels, and her department was getting the final spread put together. The photos for the shoot were minimalist, too-skinny models in front of a cyc wall wearing baby blue and yellow pastel shift dresses with teased hair and light makeup. It wasn’t anything Marinette was thrilled with, to be honest. The concept was too predictable for spring, too overdone, but that had been Camille’s vision for the spring issue, and ‘if Camille wants it by tomorrow, better have it done today.’

That’s the way the regime worked, up until now. With Camille out, and a new editor-in-chief - _Adrien_ in charge, who knew how things would change? He had been so influential in the European fashion world, so what would he expect?

Everyone knew what Adrien Agreste was up to after lycée. He was well-known as a model and fashion empire heir at that point, and his worldwide modeling gigs were everywhere. She never heard from him again after leaving Paris, but she still saw him. She would see photos from New York Fashion Week, and there he’d be, walking in the Dolce & Gabbana show. She’d keep up to date about the latest fashion industry news, and she’d see his name in gossip magazines and blogs. His presence ghosted through her entire life since he left. Marinette felt a spark of self-deprecating anger that his smile had the same effect on her now that it did over a decade ago. She needed to control her emotions, the same way Alya and Tikki always warned her she should.

Even if this curveball was going to throw her off, it wasn’t going affect her work. Marinette had worked too hard to establish herself to throw it all away because seeing her childhood crush again made her uncomfortable. Fashion was a hyper-competitive and bureaucratic industry, oftentimes an “old girl’s club” where only the rich and the elite succeeded, and yet she had made it this far on her own merit. She was no Anna Wintour, but since she started university she had given all of herself to her education and career. Marinette had devoted the last thirteen years to becoming proud of herself. 

A knock on her door broke her concentration, and she called a “Come in!” to the person on the other side. Justine entered, juggling a coffee and a pastry bag in one hand. On cue, Marinette’s stomach growled, a loud wail for food. The writer grinned in response, striding over to one of the seats across from Marinette and sitting, placing the offering on her desk. “Saw you never made it to lunch and I grabbed you something while I was out.” 

Upon opening the bag, Marinette found a large cranberry scone. “I love you,” she breathed, breaking off a piece of the pastry far too big for one bite and shoving it into her mouth anyway, chewing exuberantly. 

Justine snorted. “Yeah, I don’t know if you’re talking to me or the food, so I’m going to pretend you’re talking to me.” Scooting her chair slightly closer, her voice lowered slightly, and Marinette’s face fell, knowing what was coming. “So I heard about Camille. I thought I’d die before Camille would ever leave _Vérité_. Apparently the dipping sales the last few quarters were the reason they decided to kick her ass out the door. About time, if you ask me.” Justine was savagely blunt, and this wasn’t the first time Marinette heard her rant about their (former) leader. “Anyway, you meet her replacement? I haven’t seen him yet, but I heard he’s dishy.” 

Suddenly, the scone in Marinette’s mouth was a too-dry lump. Swallowing thickly, she gulped down a little bit of the coffee before responding. “I did, that’s why I got called into Marchand’s office.” 

“Okay. So, confirm or deny? Hot or no? Or is he office-hot?” Justine snickered at Marinette’s confused look. “You know, when someone is only kind of attractive, but because you’re stuck being around the same coworkers every day, the bar is lower and they pass the attractive threshold?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marinette sniffed. 

Sighing, Justine leaned back in her chair. “Suit yourself. If he got moved up to an editor-in-chief role that quickly, he’s probably a pain in the ass. You get any marching orders for us?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep you and the rest of the team informed once I do, though. I guess we just stick to the status quo for now. I’ll set something up for tomorrow morning to talk to everyone, if that sounds good.” 

“You don’t have to ask me, Marinette. You’re the boss now, remember?” Standing, Justine straightened an imaginary wrinkle on her clothing before heading towards the door. “Just eat that, okay? It’d be a huge pain in my ass if you made yourself sick the first week we have a new leader.” With that, Marinette was left alone, finding she didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

___

Marinette was sorely tempted to back out of her plans for drinks with Alya that night, but by the time she had wrapped everything up at the office, it was already past seven and she hadn’t thought of an adequate excuse that would stand up to inspection. Resigning herself to yet another uncomfortable conversation she packed up, the last one in her department to leave that day, and headed outside. 

The rain from earlier had finally abated, and the air smelled fresh and cool. It was early March, and the nighttime air still had a bit of a chill to it. Thankfully, she had remembered her favorite raincoat in her rush that morning, a double-breasted taupe jacket that fell to mid-thigh, waist cinched and skirt flared, the collar two long pieces that fell to the top of her breast in flounced layers. Marinette tugged her coat around her, umbrella slung over her arm as she began the walk down Canal Saint-Martin. The scent of petrichor and the warm streetlamp light reflecting off of the water put her at ease - momentarily, at least - until Marinette arrived at the pub she and Alya regulared. 

Their place was a popular spot for drinks and dancing, operating more as a pub on the weekdays, and turned into a full-blown dance hall on the weekends. It was eclectic, old antiques and the ivy weaving up the walls equal decoration throughout the softly-lit rooms. Besides the bar, there were old, overstuffed armchairs with tables throughout for seating. As Marinette entered, unbuttoning her jacket, she found Alya already seated in their favorite chairs, waving her over.

“Finally made it, girlie? Decided not to stand me up after your big day?” 

Marinette rolled her eyes at Alya’s ribbing, shrugging out of her jacket as she sat down. “You know, if I knew you were going to give me a hard time right away, maybe I would have.” 

Alya tutted, leaning over to push an untouched drink resting between them on the table towards her best friend. “All I’m saying is that I know you, therefore I’m perfectly aware that you like to bail when you feel overwhelmed. Also I know your drink, so that makes up for it.” 

Reaching for the prosecco, Marinette sighed in contentment as she leaned back in her chair, taking a sip. “All right, you’re forgiven.” 

Crossing one long leg over the other, Alya laughed. “Of course I am.” Marinette had to admire the figure that Alya cut, all casual ease. As a journalist for a popular gossip blog, Alya always looked hip. She exuded confidence all the time, but she looked killer in her tight jeans and weathered brown knee-high boots, a slouchy cream sweater under a brown moto jacket, gold medallion earrings hanging from her ears. Where Marinette was aiming for fashionable, Alya just looked cool, seemingly without effort. 

After a long swig from her cherry rum and coke, Alya grinned at her. Marinette wanted to shrink into her seat and hide in the plush upholstery, because she knew what that grin on Alya’s face meant. She was her best friend, but she was also an amazing reporter and an insatiable gossip. “See, I’m such a good friend that I knew you’d be insanely busy today, so I didn’t text you.” She raised an eyebrow archly, and Marinette felt the hyper-aware focus of the girl who once single-handedly ran the Ladyblog. “I’m such a good friend that I _refrained_ from blowing up your phone when I saw the press release go out from _Vérité_ announcing their new editor-in-chief this afternoon. So, since I’m the perfect best friend, you now owe me _all_ the juicy details about what having your teenage crush as your boss is like.”

Groaning, Marinette tilted her head back against the arch of the chair. “I should have known you would have heard about it already.”

“Gossip _is_ my job, you know.” Marinette’s head lolled forward, met with Alya’s wide grin. “Spill. Did you talk to him? Has he changed? Please tell me you’re over him and didn’t just word-vomit all over him.”

She scrubbed at her face with one hand. Leave it to Alya to go right for the kill. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Yes, we talked, but only for a second. I don’t know, see previous comment. And _yes_ , it was a stupid teenage crush and I haven’t seen him in over a decade. I’m not an idiot.” The way her emotions were sent into a tailspin just at the sight of him said otherwise, but Marinette wasn’t about to admit to that. She didn’t know him anymore. Thirteen years was a long time, and at this point he was a stranger. She could appreciate that he was still attractive, but she didn’t have feelings for him anymore. It was impossible to.

“All right, all right,” Alya laughed. “You’re my girl, I was obligated to ask. You spent years head-over-heels for him, it’d be hella awkward if you fell right back into that pit.”

Marinette grumbled as she took another gulp of her drink. “So thoughtful of you to point it out. I _was_ there for those years of humiliation.”

Snorting, Alya rested a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Sorry, I’m dropping it! Just looking out for you.” Alya started a line of questioning about how the rest of her first day had been to draw Marinette out of her sullen shell, then Marinette asked about the interview she had with the has-been pop star for the gossip blog. Snark forgotten, the two of them dissolved into animated banter over food and more drinks for a few hours until Marinette extracted herself, citing an early morning the next day.

By the time she said her goodbyes and took a cab home, Marinette felt completely exhausted. The day had been a complete roller coaster, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a few days. She was dropped off in front of her apartment building, an off-white faux-Victorian style building with black wrought-iron balconies. Trudging up to the bright blue door, she let herself in, then took the elevator up to her floor. 

Once she was safely in her apartment she released the huge sigh she’d been holding in seemingly all day. Her one bedroom was her sanctuary, with wide windows overseeing the street below, framed with iron and home-sewn chantilly lace curtains. It was bright and clean (the latter only because she was working so often), and it was the first place she’d ever lived in by herself. Marinette shut the door, haphazardly slipped out of her shoes, and hung up her bags and jacket. It wasn’t until then she opened her second purse, allowing her kwami to be out in the open for the first time that day. Tikki slipped out of the bag, floating in front of Marinette. “I’m so sorry you had to be in there all day,” Marinette apologized, padding over to the kitchen in socked feet, reaching for a cabinet door as her kwami followed.

“It’s all right, Marinette! You know I don’t mind.” Tikki bumped up against her cheek, the same way a cat might, and Marinette smiled at the twist of affection in her chest for her kwami. 

She pulled a package of cookies from the cabinet, opening it and lifting up a chocolate chip cookie. “Here, I wanted to make sure you got something to eat.” Tikki happily grabbed the cookie from her hand, then plopped onto the counter, munching away. Marinette then busied herself with getting a glass and filling it with water from the fridge. One drink had turned into a few, like it always did with Alya, and she didn’t want to have a dehydrated headache in the morning.

“Are you okay?” The question from her kwami startled Marinette, and she stared up at her friend, who was paused in her cookie consumption. 

Marinette was a teenager when she was chosen as Ladybug. She had resisted her destiny as the heroine with every fiber of her being, but when she finally accepted her fate, her relationship with Tikki swiftly became something precious to her. When she and Chat Noir defeated Papillon, she was afraid that she wasn’t going to be Ladybug anymore. The relief she felt when Tikki stayed with her was powerful.

But Paris didn’t need Ladybug anymore.

She should have been grateful that she didn’t need to assume her supernatural identity anymore. Once Papillon was defeated, life returned to the routine she knew before she transformed for the first time. No more akuma attacks meant no more need for Ladybug and Chat Noir. Crime still existed, as it did in any city, but theft and assault were up to the police to handle, not superhero teenagers. 

Marinette hadn’t transformed since she was eighteen years old, and with every year since that last battle, she felt a little duller. Her super identity had been confusing at first, a responsibility she didn’t want thrust upon her, but as she grew up she had come to accept her destiny as a polka-dotted heroine. Ladybug _meant_ something to Paris, and giving that up felt like giving up a part of her heart.

Ladybug had fought for peace in Paris, but achieving it made her feel the loneliest she ever had. If she lost Tikki too, she would have been completely devastated. More than she had after they defeated Papillon, that is.

“I’m fine,” she quipped back, reaching over to rub Tikki’s tiny chin with a fingertip. “I’ll always be fine if I’ve got you, Tikki.” 

Her kwami let out a soft pleased trill at the touch, but solemnly looked up at her with huge eyes, serious. “This must be hard on you, Marinette. If you want to talk about it, I’m always here.”

Alcohol always made Marinette feel maudlin, and at Tikki’s words, she felt a sting of tears in her eyes. “I know,” she murmured, focusing back on the task of pouring herself a glass of water. “And thank you.”

___

Ladybug's impatience brought her to the meeting place early, and seeing that Chat Noir had followed her instructions explicitly and wasn’t here yet, she was left alone with her thoughts. Standing vigil over the illuminated nighttime Place Charles de Gaulle, Ladybug crossed her arms, brow furrowed. In many ways, she felt like she had quite a bit in common with Paris.

Everyone believes they know her, the city, but she is beyond the understanding of any individual. Various rulers and sovereigns spent their lives protecting and serving her, but Paris was an idea, something no one could own - the property of all her inhabitants and no one at all simultaneously. 

She was eighteen now, and had been Ladybug for years. Day after day, she assumed a double life that no one else knew of, save for Tikki. Her parents and her best friend were familiar with her constant lies and excuses, but still had no idea that Marinette was Ladybug. Her absenteeism was chalked up to airheadedness or lack of consideration, nothing as noble as what she was truly up to. 

It was isolating, being an ideal. Ladybug was a vigilant warden for the city, saving the citizens from the threat of akuma for years, from the fear that your loved ones would turn into the monsters under your bed without warning. Ladybug never failed, and so the citizens took the threat for granted, lost no sleep thinking of the pressure put on one young woman to keep the city safe. Failure wasn’t an option; her life belonged to her Miraculous, to her city, but not to her. 

At least she wasn’t the only one.

“My lady, such a melanclawly expression is a shame to witness on such a meownificent face. Tell me what’s on your mind so we can bring back your purrfect smile.” 

Turning from the brilliant cityscape, Ladybug’s expression remained the same as her attention shifted to her partner who appeared behind her on the roof. “Quit joking around, Chat Noir. This is serious.” 

The wry grin on Chat Noir’s face only grew more pronounced, in direct opposition with the gravity of their situation. “I know, Buginette. All the more reason to stay cavalier, isn’t it?”

Huffing, Ladybug brushed past her counterpart to pace along the roof, thoughts still whirling in her head despite her attempt to think things through. “This might be a trap, but it’s also the best chance we have at going after Papillon.”

“I agree,” he immediately replied. “It’s the first time we can act on information we have instead of react to akuma attacks. We have the advantage, for once.” 

As she paced back and forth in front of Chat, Ladybug felt uncertainty clutch at her. “But this is going to be different from any other obstacle we’ve had to face. We know how to defeat akuma, but what abilities will Papillon have in person? What if my Lucky Charm doesn’t work on him?” Stopping in her tracks, she wrapped her arms around herself, fear beginning to cloud her eyes as she faced Chat. “What if I’m not strong enough to do this?”

Being Ladybug filled her with strength and determination, her transformation purging everything she disliked about her civilian identity, but the suit and disguise weren’t enough to muffle her fears. 

Chat scoffed, waving a clawed glove in the air. “Nonsense, _chérie_. Your strength is beyond compare, and together we’ll defeat our little Papillon, and be home in time to get a good night’s rest.”

“Chat, _please_. You don’t know that.” Ladybug snapped. “Can you please be serious, for once? You could get _hurt_. We could _fail_. Don’t you care about that?”

The smirk on Chat’s face fell, leaving a crestfallen expression in its wake. “Of course I care. There’s nothing I care about more than you, Ladybug.”

The frank confession hung in the air between them. Ladybug was accustomed to his flirting, but it was rare for him to make such blatant declarations, especially with everything else at stake. Her crossed arms tightened, shoulders shifting in discomfort. “As partners, I know.”

“Will you stop that?” Taken aback by the sharp reprimand from Chat, Ladybug stared at him, wide-eyed. “You know you don’t have to do this alone, don’t you? I can be there for you, if you let me.” Bright green burned into blue as Chat Noir’s gaze never strayed. “Stop shutting me out. I belong to you.” 

“You belong to yourself,” Ladybug tried to interrupt, but Chat Noir shook his head. 

“No, let me finish. I’ve been wanting to explain all of this forever, and I feel like… if we’re really going after Papillon and anything happens, if this is really _it_ , this is my last chance to be honest.” Chat Noir paused then, taking a deep breath before reaching out and putting his hands on Ladybug’s shoulders.The layers of their Miraculous suits between them made the touch more pressure than warmth, but Ladybug still felt her attention hone in on the sensation, her arms falling to her sides. 

The orange and yellow glow of the city lights reflected on the high cheekbones of his mask, illuminating the sooty smudge of his lowered eyelashes. She was used to seeing him laugh in the face of peril, or clench his jaw with resolve - but this expression, this single-minded intensity focused entirely on her was enough to send goosebumps across her skin. 

“I was in love with you when I was fourteen, and I’m in love with you now. It’s okay that you don’t feel that way about me. You were never obligated to return my feelings, and it’s enough for me to be able to be here with you, but I don’t… I don’t want to let things end like this. If we defeat Papillon, I might never see you again.” His hands lifted from her shoulders, and Ladybug’s stomach dropped out as she realized he was reaching for his ring. “I want you to know who I am.”

“Don’t!” Her hands snatched his, red wrapping over black as she clutched his fingers tight. “Don’t. Just… not yet.” Startled, he looked between their joined hands and her, confusion and hurt mingled on his face. 

“Even after all this time?” Chat Noir’s voice wasn’t warm and charming, as it was when he was trying to flirt, or wheedling in an attempt to sway her. It was soft and strained, wounded. “Despite everything we’ve been through together? We’ve saved Paris together countless times. I know we can take care of one another, even if we’re unmasked.”

“We shouldn’t make ourselves vulnerable,” she argued. “If we’re exposed, it can be used against us. If we know, Papillon might be able to find out, and he could use that information to manipulate us. Or worse, to come after one of us when we aren’t prepared.” The thought of an akuma attacking her parents flitted across her mind, and her grip tightened on Chat’s gloved hands. “We _can’t_.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen, and neither would you,” Chat insisted. He lowered to one knee, his tall, athletic form dwarfed by hers as he kneeled. “We’ve made it so far, haven’t we? The two of us are incredible together, Ladybug, more than you give us credit for. I feel like I can accomplish anything at your side, and I know we’re going to defeat Papillon.” Chat brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her covered fingers. It wasn’t a mindless, distracting flirtation, but an anchor. “So don’t push me away. You’re everything to me, my lady, and I’m not strong enough to lose you. _Please_.”

Ladybug felt a deluge of emotions threatening to overwhelm her as she watched the indomitable Chat Noir kneel at her feet, begging her to let him be part of her life, to let him in behind the walls she had constructed. He devoted himself to her, his intentions unwavering as long as they had known one another. She always wondered how genuine his affections were, of course. He only knew Ladybug, the brave vigilante protecting Paris, and not Marinette, the ordinary girl. How could he love her without question? How could he be sure they could protect one another? How would he feel once she was a person, and not a legend?

But this was real, regardless of her misgivings. His fear and heartbreak were laid bare, hers to judge. Chat was the only true constant in her life, who knew what her burden truly was. 

“...okay.”

The sound of traffic and city nightlife filled the thick pause as Chat Noir lifted his eyes, disbelief evident despite the mask. He swallowed, eyes searching Ladybug’s for any hesitation. “What?”

“I said okay.” Giddy fear tripped its way up and down her spine as her decision started to sink in. “You can tell me who you are, and I’ll do the same. But _after_ we defeat Papillon, not before.”

The unbridled joy that broke over Chat Noir’s face made Ladybug’s heart clench like a fist in her chest. “Then let’s go get him, my lady.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout as always to my beauty beta [K0bot](http://cat-puns-and-ladybugs.tumblr.com/) for keeping my hyperbole in (and out) of line. <3

When Marinette’s phone alarm started trilling at six in the morning, she questioned why her life choices had led her to a career that required getting up before the sun. Her bed was her safe haven, sinfully comfortable and cozy. The quilt was a downy cocoon pulled up to her chin, and the cold, grey dawn filtering through her curtains only made her want to burrow down deeper into her nest of blankets. With a whine, she reached out for her phone to stop the incessant perky melody on repeat, prodding at the screen until it ceased. 

Marinette always struggled to wake up in the morning, in spite of her current job demanding early hours and her upbringing as a baker’s daughter. Her parents were often up at four in the morning, preparing dough for that day’s bread and pastries, but Marinette had never fully acclimatized to getting up so damn early. Many early summer mornings helping her parents out were spent groggily punching dough.

Extricating herself from her blankets, Marinette sat up, reaching over for her work phone. While it wasn’t an advisable habit to check it first thing in the morning, she couldn’t help it, needing to be sure no emergencies had cropped up overnight. 

She thumbed in her passcode, then blinked blearily at the slew of messages on her phone. Company meeting. Department meeting. Team meeting. One-on-one status. Her inbox had completely blown up with meeting invites, timestamped since five a.m., all sent from Agreste, Adrien. 

The day before came back to her in a rush, the fog of sleep lifting immediately. Her first day as Fashion Editor. Camille being ousted. Seeing Adrien again, but only for a moment, leaving her feeling uncertain and unsettled by what she had to face today. Grumbling, she stood up and plodded towards the shower, annoyed that her head was already reeling. By the time Marinette was in the shower, her thoughts were ramming against her skull, each one fighting for dominance. 

Having a new editor-in-chief was bad enough. Having someone who had emotionally compromised her for years be that boss was _actually_ the worst. Proclivity for hyperbole aside, Marinette felt an undercurrent of true embarrassment under the rest of the feelings boiling away inside of her. What if he pitied her, because of the way she had behaved when they saw one another last?

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered to herself, aggressively scrubbing at her hair. “You’ve got this. You’re a professional. You have more important shit to worry about right now. Just because you were a sobbing, snotty wreck the last time you saw each other doesn’t mean he won’t respect you now.” Hissing out a frustrated breath, she thunked her head against the cold tile wall. It was _so_ convincing when she put it that way. “Don’t be _stupid_.” Rinsing her hair, she wondered if it was bad that her tone when she was coaching herself sounded just like Alya.

Wrenching the shower faucet off, she practically stomped her way through her morning routine. Teeth were brushed aggressively, hair was pulled back into a high bun, makeup was applied slightly darker and more dramatic than usual. She paired a dark green drop-waisted dress with a black leather draped front jacket, and her favorite black strappy heels with a wide ankle strap. She topped her outfit off with a statement necklace, with black and clear faux gems strung along the chain. If she was going to be subjected to a maelstrom at work, she was going to look absolutely killer doing it. 

She nudged a sleeping Tikki into her purse, grabbed some breakfast cookies from the kitchen, then took off to the metro for work. Making an impulse executive decision, she stopped by a nearby pastry shop, and by the time she was walking into _Vérité’s_ lobby, Marinette had accepted the slew of meeting invites sent, and was resolved to not let anything get in the way today. She had a job to do, new boss who happened to be _Adrien-god damned-Agreste_ or not. Yesterday had thrown her off, and she wasn’t going to let today do the same. 

Her resolve was firmly in place as she hit the up button. It took some juggling, managing both of her bags, her jacket, and the large, flat box from the shop. Her gaze was trained downward when the door opened, which was why she jumped in surprise, very nearly dropping everything when she heard her name.

“Marinette.” 

As it was, she scrambled to keep a hold on everything, barely holding on to the pastry box. The fact that she didn’t slam dunk it onto the pavement was testament to her general coordination improving slightly since her adolescence, but it was a close thing. Marinette looked up to see a hand holding the elevator door open, keeping it from shutting. Said hand led up to a broad-shouldered body, which happened to belong, _of course_ , to Adrien. 

“Easy,” he said, indicating the box. “It’d be a tragedy to drop such precious cargo.” 

Inhaling sharply, she straightened and walked into the elevator, sidestepping him to stand on the other side. No one else was in the elevator, and she steeled herself, remembering her coaching session in the shower that morning. 

“I saved it,” she asserted, just shy of sounding defensive to her own ears. 

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “And I witnessed it.” His hands lowered, sliding into his pockets as he grinned. “I’ve heard you have a reputation for doing that a lot around here. Saving things.”

Marinette couldn’t believe how fast her heart was beating after a stupid compliment. She wasn’t going to survive a day with him as her boss if she was going to let what he said get under her skin and fluster her. “I just do my job.”

“Better than most, so I’m led to believe.” 

Suddenly, the elevator felt _far_ too small, and Adrien was way too close for comfort, even a meter away. Marinette’s mouth opened to reply, but instead of words springing forth, a sputtering, disbelieving laugh wormed its way out of her mouth. “H-ha ha?” The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival and mercifully giving her an opportunity to make her escape. Adrien held the elevator door open for her again, and she nodded her thanks, neck feeling hot as she passed by him again. “See you later, Marinette.” 

“Later,” she mumbled not- _too_ -pathetically, walking faster than was strictly necessary over to her office. 

Attempting to restore her composure, she greeted Justine as she passed her desk. It wasn’t fair that Justine was always in the office so early, yet looked flawless. Marinette felt like it took a generous amount of effort to look presentable for work, and Justine’s cool, collected appearance, like she could easily meet with executives or go to a rock concert, seemed effortless. 

“New regime day,” the brunette said by way of response, and Marinette shot her a grin as she unlocked her office door, putting a little more focus this time on balancing the pastry box. 

“Day number two. I started yesterday, remember?”

“Since you’re my boss now, does that mean I have to tell you you’re funny when you aren’t?”

Marinette pretended to consider it for a second. “Yes. You also need to like all of my ideas.”

“Yeah, not happening.” Justine scoffed as she turned back to her work. 

If there was anything Marinette could depend on, it was Justine’s brutal honesty. Knowing that she gave completely unfiltered feedback was both the best and worst thing about working with her. She could know that whatever she said was what she honestly thought, and while it was hard to take unbridled criticism, it made her take a more critical look at her work when she brought it to Justine for judgement. 

Once she was in her office, she hung up her jacket and purses, then sat at her desk, emotionally prepping herself for the day in store for her. There was too much going on for her to get distracted by the axis of her career world shifting underneath her feet, and her first order of business was getting a chance to talk to her team before anyone else did. 

It was strange to face her department again as a leader instead of just a colleague, but the smiles she earned from them as she walked into the conference room bolstered her spirits. Marinette had approached the last six years with indomitable cheer and enthusiasm, and seeing the positive response from her team was definitely a reward for working so hard to listen to all of their problems and opinions.

If her father had taught her anything, it was that sweets were the great ameliorator of any situation. Marinette brought the pastry box into the meeting, placing it on the table. They weren’t the same as her parents’ baked goods, which were halfway across town, but they were an acceptable substitute. 

One of the fashion stylists, Edmond, grabbed a pain au chocolat and raised it to her in a mock toast. “Plying us with baked goods already? Marinette, you _know_ our love isn’t so easily bought.” 

Grace, Justine’s counterpart as their other staff fashion writer, reached over him to grab a croissant. “Ignore him, please. Our love is definitely that cheap.” The rest of the room laughed, her other stylists and contributors, and Marinette couldn’t help grinning. It felt like she was setting the tone for the department, the same way Sophia once did, and it made her finally start to feel confident about running her team. 

“All right, all right. Before we go over what we’re working on this week, I know you all heard about the announcement from yesterday.” Marinette began, affecting a tone of unperturbed confidence. Even if she herself felt unsettled by it, she couldn’t project that feeling to the rest of her department. “It doesn’t change that we have only a couple of weeks until we have to finalize everything for the spring issue, so let’s go over everything before this staff meeting so we’re totally on our A-game and can speak to what’s going on. Cool?”

Marinette looked out at the faces of her employees, each and every one ready to get down to business, and felt her lingering nerves settle.  
___

“Good morning, everyone.” The murmur of conversation in the large conference room where _Vérité’s_ staff was gathered stopped the instant Adrien entered the room. Those who hadn’t recognized his name immediately from the announcement (very few, given the field they worked in) had immediately looked him up, and his credentials needed no introduction. After several years as a worldwide supermodel, Adrien had become even more prestigious in the fashion editorial world. He had served as a brand consultant for various designers and appeared at fashion week, all under his own name. Adrien Agreste was a well-known name in fashion, and Marinette was shot back to the first day he attended collège. To her coworkers, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that they had a celebrity in their midst. 

Sitting several rows back from the front gave her the opportunity to study him from afar. His blonde hair was styled back and away from his face, drawing attention to how his facial features had changed. A certain amount of softness had been on his face still the last time she saw him, but time had been kind to him. His jaw was more angular, stronger, transitioning from simply ‘attractive’ to ‘attractively striking’. Back then, he looked like he could model for any magazine. Now, he looked as if he had been ideated specifically by Armani. 

“I appreciate you all meeting with me so early,” he began, so obviously confident addressing the room. “I don’t want to talk around the issue. While I know this will be a strange transitional period, especially in the middle of preparations for the next issue, I’ve always admired the work done by this team for this magazine. I’m looking forward to speaking with each of your departments about what’s going on, and working towards making sure all of your work at _Vérité_ is properly portrayed.” 

Idly, Marinette observed that he knew exactly what he was doing. Those who weren’t already impressed by his credentials or his good looks were now pleased that he had spoken so frankly, and she felt some of the tension in the room ebb. Very few of her colleagues were stalwart supporters of Camille, and as Adrien went on to discuss his career prior to this and his hopes for the magazine, she knew she had won them over.

___

The rest of the day had an undercurrent of stress run through it, meeting after meeting consuming her time. She met with Adrien, the lifestyle editor, and the beauty editor to go over their upcoming features, to which Adrien provided little feedback. He simply listened to them go over their plans for the next issue, occasionally asking for elaboration, but not much more than that. He was infuriatingly difficult to read, and Marinette had no idea if he hated everything they were working on or loved it by the time the meeting was over. They then had a brief meet and greet between him and the rest of the fashion department, during which he was just as polite and aloof, unreadable.

For the rest of the day, she attempted to catch up on missed emails and go through some final copy she had to approve, but she had two endless distractions - her preoccupation with how her meetings had gone thus far, and a nonstop stream of her colleagues coming into her office to gossip about their new intrepid leader. By the time Grace knocked on her doorframe and invited herself in, Marinette’s nerves were thoroughly frayed. “Yes?”

The writer strode into the room, leaning over the back of one of her guest chairs as she pulled her attention away from her computer. “So, I’ve gotta know if you’ve got any dirt on our new boss from your editor meeting this morning. Our model-in-chief is all anyone can talk about, and I _need_ to know what you think.”

Marinette’s lips twisted into a frown, biting back her initial response to tell Grace to mind her business. Every time someone asked her about Adrien today, she felt self-sabotaging word vomit threatening to betray her, let her admit that she knew Adrien already, that they had gone to school together. The instant she did she knew that it would set the rumor mill ablaze, and having coworkers ask about any inside information about Adrien sounded like a very specific form of torture. Grace was sweet, but especially gossipy, and Marinette wasn’t about to tell her anything if she could keep her big mouth shut. Her lips pressed together tight, until she thought of the most diplomatic thing to say without really indicating anything one way or the other.

“I think he knows what he’s talking about, and we’ll just have to trust that and keep doing our jobs well.”

Grace sighed, pushing herself away from the desk and walking out of her office. “No fun, Marinette. Just be sure to tell me if he’s still all picture-perfect model or actually a jerk during your last meeting, okay?”

Her final meeting of the day was the one she dreaded the most - her one-on-one meeting with Adrien. In the group meetings she was able to somewhat remove herself from the situation, to keep her interactions with him aloof and factual, and not admit that instead of going over fashion features, a slew of questions burned inside of her. What did he think of her? How much did he remember? Was anything he did remember going to color their working relationship?

Her pulse was in her throat by the time she reached Adrien’s office for their meeting at the end of the day. It had been Camille’s up until a few days ago, but the placard outside of the office was already changed. The desk just outside where Camille’s old assistant Sydney used to sit was empty, and Marinette felt a pang of sympathy. Had she been let go at the same time as Camille, or did Adrien want to have a new assistant of his own? She didn’t like thinking that he had immediately fired Camille’s assistant. The Adrien she used to know would never have let someone lose their job in such an unceremonious fashion, but then again, he might have changed significantly. Thirteen years was more than time enough to alter someone’s personality, and in retrospect she knew she used to put Adrien on a pedestal. She was walking into this meeting blind.

Gathering her courage, she rapped on the door, and she was surprised to not hear a muffled response, but to instead have the door open only a moment later. She was met with Adrien standing on the other side, that model-perfect smile threatening to disarm her. “Come in,” he offered, gesturing into his office. Feeling the corners of her lips lift into a smile automatically, she walked into the spacious office, fully realizing that this was the first time they were alone since her breakdown as a teenager. 

So of course, the first thing she uttered was a blunt “Sydney’s gone?” _Excellent_. She might as well have asked _Hey, did you already fire someone?_

“Camille’s assistant, right? She gave notice of her own volition when Camille left. I’m not too surprised, honestly. If she was that loyal to her, she probably wouldn’t have been happy working for me, anyway.” 

“Ah.” She paused awkwardly, feeling her stomach churn as she walked into his office. 

Camille rarely let anyone below a certain level in her office, so Marinette had only been inside a few times before. The office was easily twice as large as hers, view even more stunning at the corner of the building. All of Camille’s personal touches were gone, but the furniture was largely the same, to Marinette’s surprise. In her experience, new executives were accustomed to having their office redecorated right away, so it suited their preferences. Swallowing her hesitation, she sat in one of the chairs in front of his highly-polished dark wood desk. 

The thick office door clicked ominously, and then Adrien passed by her on the way to his seat. Once he was behind his desk, one hand landed on the back of his chair. He let it rest there for a beat, a strange pause before he squeezed it and pulled back the chair to sit down. 

Out of all of the ways Marinette had envisioned reuniting with Adrien, this wasn’t even close to one of them. In her early university years, she had daydreamed about seeing him again, imagining herself more mature and confident, earning back his respect and charming him with her witty repertoire. Those daydreams had faded in the wake of the sobering truth that she would likely never see him again and get a chance to compensate for how she had acted the last time she saw him. Now, it seemed as if she was half correct. Here he was, mere feet away, but Marinette wasn’t going to be able to clear the air between them. It would be inappropriate. It would be _awkward_. So she sat there silently, willing herself not to squirm under his gaze as he settled in his chair, taking his time with saying anything.

When Adrien finally broke the silence, it wasn’t to say anything she expected. In fact, it wasn’t to say anything at all. He let out a laugh, a soft huff that startled Marinette. “I’m sorry, it’s just that this is a little…” His hands were animated, expressive as he seemed to try to fill in the words with the movements of his fingers. “Surprising. When I saw the list of personnel last week, I was hoping it was you, but I wasn’t sure until I saw you yesterday.” 

Her heartbeat revved, tripping over itself as she stiffened in her chair. Marinette was just relieved that the “Oh?” that came out of her mouth sounded interested but non-committal, not the surprised voice crack that she predicted herself making. 

“It’s just, ah… it’s nice to see a familiar face after all this time.” 

Marinette registered that the sun was starting to set outside. The overcast cloudiness from yesterday’s rain was gone, so the brilliant oranges and pinks were free to scatter their light everywhere. They filtered in through the office windows, painting the room with diffused with warm tones. 

His hand lifted to rub the back of his neck, and Marinette felt her chest lurch with deja vu. Adrien was a league away from the confident, unquestionable figure he cut during their meetings that day, and seemed almost a little embarrassed. If the Adrien she saw earlier today was his professional side, this was the Adrien she remembered from her youth, a boyish charm effusing from him. 

“I’m happy we have the chance to work together, but to be frank, I hope you don’t hold anything against me.”

“What?” Marinette bit back her sputter. “What do you mean?”

“Well.” His hand slid away from his neck, lowering to rest on his desktop. “We… ah, we didn’t leave things off as well as I wanted to, and I never got the chance to properly apologize.”

This was some sort of weird alternate dimension, for sure. Otherwise, why the hell would Adrien be _apologizing_ to her for her stupid, tearful confession? The confession that he remembered, apparently, without any hesitation.

Cheeks coloring, Marinette shook her head. “No need to apologize. We… we were just kids, right?” This was a potential nightmare manifesting, having him pity her instead of respect her in the office. She imagined the worst thing she could, meetings punctuated with sympathetic looks, or having him question her decisions, perceiving her as emotionally unstable or vulnerable. “Nothing to apologize for. It’s all behind us.”

There was a singular lamp turned on in his office, leaving the room slightly dimmed, save for the light from the sunset outside. His features, so much stronger and angular than memory provided, were lit in stark contrast by those oranges and pinks. It made the grin spreading across his features all the more heart-stopping. 

“I’m glad to hear it. You were always an important friend to me, and I’m glad I finally got the opportunity to talk to you again. It’ll be good to have a friend here. I think we’ll make a great team.”

“Me too,” Marinette replied automatically, mouth forming the words without thought as she absently observed that her face was still hot, hopefully masked by the sunset’s light.

Adrien tapped one finger on his desk, thoughtful. “And because we have a rapport, I want you to feel comfortable with me. This is going to be an adjustment period for everyone, but I’d like to count on you especially to keep things moving forward. Do you think you can bring me your editorial proofs first thing tomorrow?”

The sudden transition from kind, thoughtful Adrien to business Adrien sobered her slightly, and she suddenly remembered how to form sentences. “No question. I can totally handle that.”

The smile that slid onto his face looked so much like the one he gave her this morning, alone in the elevator, and like the one she had etched into her memory as a teenager. “Didn’t doubt you for a second.” He checked his watch, frowning before getting up. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have a dinner meeting to get to. We’ll have to finish this another time.”

Finish this? She tried to process what that meant exactly as she stood, following him to the door. His eyes lit up, an expression so achingly familiar over the business-fronting seriousness she witnessed the entire day so far. “Let’s have drinks with the fashion department after work this Friday. It will give me a chance to get to know your group better, and we can catch up.” 

In a way, Marinette had wanted him to be completely different from the Adrien she remembered. If he was completely serious now, absent of the charm she remembered, then she had absolutely nothing to worry about, no old echoes of feelings to reminisce over. Having him alone, away from a group of professionals he had to behave a certain way around, he was so much like his old self. Despite everything in her screaming that she shouldn’t, she felt that irresistible pull to him, like the tide to the moon. 

“Sounds great,” she murmured faintly.

He rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment, only long enough to help guide her out of the room, but simultaneously long enough for her to feel her skin tingle in response. “Great! I’ll send your team an invite.” 

As she stepped outside, Marinette turned to say goodnight, and found herself under the attention of his bright green eyes. His ability to focus on an individual like nothing else mattered was likely a talent in his world, where so many colleagues were disingenuous. To Marinette, it was a curse. His focus on her only made her more aware of her discomfort, face hot under his scrutiny. 

“I really am happy that we’ll be working together, Marinette. It will take me a few days to get caught up with everything, and I’m going to depend on you to get me up to speed, if you’re okay with that. I’m lucky to be in this position with someone I trust.” Adrien paused for a moment, eyes flicking over her form before smiling again. “Nice dress, by the way. Green suits you.”

Marinette must have thanked him, because she was left on the other side of his closed door, willing herself to stop blushing.

___

Typically, Marinette liked to preoccupy herself once she was home from work. She’d talk to Alya on the phone, or sew a little bit, something to help fill the quiet, empty hours when she happened to have free time. 

Today, the emotional exhaustion she’d accrued at work left her devoid of the will to unwind. Too many thoughts were bogging down her mind, and all she wanted to do was slip into the blissful unconsciousness of sleep and not think about anything for a few hours. It wasn’t as if she was going to be able to concentrate on anything, anyway.

She fed Tikki, inhaled some leftovers from the fridge, and then crawled into bed, feeling defeated by the day. Exhaustion won over her muddled thoughts, and she fell asleep, tangled in her blankets restlessly. 

It isn’t unusual for her to dream of her past life as Ladybug. She spent so many years as the masked protector that it was inevitably always in her subconscious. 

She dreams she’s trapped in a cloud of purple smoke and black ash, eyes stinging. Tears stream down her face, throat raw. As she falls to her hands and knees on the polished floor to find her way through the fog, hundreds of butterfly wings are crushed underneath her, brittle as paper, fragile as stained glass.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH it's been awhile! Sorry for the delay, had a fuckton happening in real life that got in the way of my writing. I'm aiming to get back into the groove of more consistent updates. Thanks as always to my beta [K0bot](http://cat-puns-and-ladybugs.tumblr.com/)!

Even in their early adventures, Ladybug and Chat Noir’s partnership was a force to be reckoned with. They collaborated well together despite Ladybug’s stubborn streak and Chat Noir’s recklessness. After being partners for so long, they were so perfectly in sync with one another that it was rare for them to have to communicate tactics. They felt like an insurmountable team, worthy of Papillon’s ire, operating with full confidence as the stalwart protectors of their city. 

Now, faced with the reality that the surreal routine they had created might come to an end, Ladybug felt trepidation. This was the first time they had gained any intel regarding Papillon's location, and her instinctual response was to not trust it. All of this time they had been operating as a response to Papillon’s actions, not being able to take initiative and pursue him. There was no way for her to discern if this was a trap, if this was his attempt to up the ante and leave them vulnerable in some way. 

But it wasn’t as if she was left with a choice - if they ignored the map left on her yo-yo, they could be passing up an opportunity to finally face Papillon head-on. He had operated in the shadows all this time, sent minions in his stead, and they couldn’t discount the possibility that this was a chance for them to have an advantage over him and face him in person.

That should have been enough for Ladybug to try to come to terms with, but simultaneously she couldn’t help shooting sidelong looks at Chat as they darted across rooftops, following the guidance of that pulsing purple light on her yo-yo’s map. Their conversation was still making her thoughts race, unsure if she felt anxiety or anticipation coursing through her.

After years of fending off akuma attacks, the pair trusted one another unquestionably when it came to their duties, but never with enough personal information to betray their true identities. She shared enough to slake Chat Noir’s thirst to be a part of her life, and enough that Ladybug never felt as if their identities were in danger of being revealed. If they succeeded tonight, if their routine was going to be upheaved by Papillon’s defeat, then she had committed to telling Chat Noir who she was as a civilian. 

The idea twisted in her stomach, but the promise she made didn’t seem to distract her partner. Every time she looked at him sidelong, he just looked focused, driven by their purpose. She leapt across rooftops, yo-yo zipping her across Paris one arrondissement at a time, and Chat Noir bounded after her. Ladybug had to stop intermittently to open her yo-yo again and check the map, making sure they were heading in the right direction, and he was always at her side in an instant, scrutinizing that faint violet light alongside her.

Little of Paris was unfamiliar to the pair, given that their duty called them to every corner of the city, and the path they were taking towards their vague goal was in a part of town they recognized. It wasn’t too far from Ladybug’s home and old collège, in fact, and she spared a thought for her parents, asleep in their beds, blissfully unaware that their daughter was running across town in pursuit of a megalomaniac criminal.

“I think we’re getting somewhere.” Ladybug tapped the edge of the screen, indicating the purple light that had grown more saturated. “It looks like the closer we get, the darker this light is.” Closer to what, she couldn’t say. Her stomach flipped at the idea of where Papillon might be hiding. Maybe some sort of complex safe house, or a dangerous part of town? 

Chat nodded, pointing in the same direction as the light. “Then we follow it.” Seeing him like this was… sobering. His face betrayed nothing from their conversation earlier and his soul-bearing confession. Instead, he appeared determined and sure of himself, brow furrowed in resolute concentration without a hint of mirth on his face. In fact, the nearer they drew to their destination, the darker his expression became. Unreadable.

It was so incongruous with the normal Chat that she had to say something. “Hey.” Chat’s gaze shifted from the city streets to her, expression tight, his mask unable to hide it. Their predicament demanded seriousness, focus on their goal, but seeing him so devoid of his usual humor was unsettling her. As much as she complained about his flippant and joking behavior, it cemented home that all of those gripes were in jest when faced with this less-vibrant Chat Noir. “Chat, you with me?”

The tension around his eyes relaxed by a degree, and he rested a hand on her shoulder, claw tips a gentle pressure against her as he squeezed. Secure. “Always am, Ladybug.”

That was enough to make her jaw unclench, to make the atmosphere clear between them. “Then we’re going to be fine.” Despite her misgivings about this blind chase towards Papillon, she needed to know that the two of them were going into it confidently. Her chin jutted towards their path, indicating their way forward. “What do you think?”

There was a barely perceptible pause before Chat lowered his hand, eyes drifting back towards their goal. “Just… seems like a pretty residential area we’re headed towards.” Crossing his arms, he shrugged with an attempted nonchalance that missed the mark and landed right in between worry and trepidation. “Don’t want any civilians to get caught in the crossfire. Or for us to have to face off against a civilian.” 

The thought hadn’t occurred to Ladybug before - that when they found Papillon, he might be a normal looking citizen of Paris instead of some amalgamation of the drawings she had seen in the Miraculous tome. How would they be able to tell? How could they take up arms against someone that looked completely normal?

Bolstering herself with confidence she didn’t feel, she grinned up at her counterpart. “Chat Noir, you’re worrying too much. I’m sure we’ll get there and Papillon will be in some sort of dark supervillain lair, ready to give us some long, overdrawn lecture about how he can’t be beat, and then we’ll kick his butt in five seconds.”

Scoffing slightly, Chat’s arms unfolded as he shot Ladybug a wry smile. “Lecture, huh? Well, let’s not keep him waiting.”  
___

Marinette couldn’t stop fidgeting. Whenever she watched coworkers during meetings, they always seemed so poised. How other people managed to focus on staying picturesquely still and absorb the information being volleyed to them during meetings, she wasn’t sure. _She_ certainly wasn’t capable of the same control over herself, and this meeting wasn’t an exception to her habit.

She jiggled her leg, trying to vent some of her nervous energy as Adrien looked over the proofs for the pastel editorial for the spring issue. He had greeted her amicably enough that morning, but now he was silent as he reviewed her department’s work. The only sound was the shuffling of paper and photos, and Marinette’s own breath, too loud in her ears.

The silence was wearing on her nerves, and Marinette attempted to distract herself from the pressure by looking around the room. Since his start on Monday, Adrien hadn’t added much to the office to distinguish it as his own. His minimalism left her with precious little to keep her eyes occupied with, and predictably, inevitably, her gaze was drawn back to him.

He was just as flawlessly dressed as he had been all week, broad shoulders contained in a black shawl-collared blazer, one button undone on the dark blue dress shirt underneath. The only expression on his face was the single line of tension between his eyebrows as his eyes raked over the proofs. His hair was artfully disheveled, the faint texture of stubble on his jaw as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, broad hand leading into the cuff of his shirt, tendons shifting as he - 

Her head whipped to the side as she jolted, snapping her attention to the window and the grey morning outside. Nope, no, double no. Marinette was _not_ going to allow her mind to wander, because when it did, it didn’t go for a pleasant stroll. It liked to run right to the corner of Inappropriate and Uncomfortable.

It had to be that she had just grown accustomed to being attracted to Adrien, and she was just instinctively responding to being around him again after so long. It would be absurd for her to pick up the torch she once carried, to _still_ have him be her type. Too much time had passed, and too much had happened between them for her to slip right back into her role as his admirer. 

Adrien was attractive. That was factual. And factually, rationally, Marinette had the choice to ignore that impulse, to focus on her job. 

She was never very adept at making good choices for herself.

“This is good work,” Adrien finally commented, making Marinette begrudgingly bring her attention back to him and losing a bit of her nervous edge. “The copy is tight, composition is excellent. Your team knows what they’re doing.” 

Marinette couldn’t tear her gaze from the furrow between his brows. “But you’re frowning.” 

A soft sigh passed between Adrien’s lips, and he dropped the proofs on his desk, leaning back in his chair. “I think the work your team does is strong, but that isn’t the problem. Who came up with the concept?”

She felt the tension in her shoulders rise again, forcing her to sit up straight. “What, the pastels feature? Well… Camille. She was in charge of all of our editorial concepts.”

“That’s what I figured.” Adrien shuffled through the pages, lifting one up for scrutiny. Most of the photos were pretty similar, with washed out colors, washed out models. “And what do you think of it?”

It was Marinette’s turn to frown, looking down at the scattered papers. She hated prompts that could be perceived as trick questions like this. Did he actually want her honest opinion, or was he trying to lead her to say something specifically? What did he _want_ her to say? Eventually, she came to the conclusion that she was going to be honest, consequences be damned, and see whether or not it was going to set a poor tone for their work relationship.

“I think it’s… predictable. Not very exciting.”

That was when his expression finally changed - a grin broke across his face, boyish, charming. Marinette grit her teeth, unprepared for his sudden radiance. “See, I knew we’d work together well. We’re already thinking the same way.” 

“Oh?” Like clockwork, heat appeared on her cheeks, an annoyance as Marinette waited for him to elaborate.

“It’s uninspired. It’s nothing new. And it’s exactly the sort of reason why _Vérité’s_ subscriptions have been dipping. When I was modeling, I saw this sort of look at photoshoots all the time. People are bored by it.” Gathering all of the proofs together, Adrien squared up the edges, the sound of the papers sharp on the solid wood of his desk. “We need to start over.”

Marinette blinked. Then she blinked again, blank shock slipping into disbelief, then horror. “Start over.” She parroted him, voice flat with thinly disguised panic. 

“Entirely. New concept, new photos, new write-ups. This isn’t the kind of feature we should be pushing. We can do something so much more edgy and interesting.” He indicated her with a pointed finger, seemingly unaware of the absolute panic that was setting in and making Marinette start to sweat. “We’re both new, and this is an opportunity to really give the magazine the fresh, new voice it needs. And I remember that you’ve designed your own clothes! I’m sure something that you come up with is going to be far better than anything else you’ve had to work on.”

She finally gathered enough of her wits to sputter back a response. “I… I understand the reasoning why you’d want to start over. I agree with you. But we have…” She did a mental tally, eyes drifting away before her brow furrowed. “Less than _two weeks_ before everything needs to be done. By next Friday. Ideation _alone_ takes longer than a week and a half.”

Adrien waved a hand in the air thoughtlessly, seeming to brush away her concerns. For the first time in his presence, Marinette felt a twinge of irritation. How could he be so _chipper_ about a decision that was going to completely send her department through a hurricane, and potentially set them back for the spring issue? “I think we can make it work. It’s drastic, but there’s no point to us starting here in our new jobs unless we’re going to take some risks and make it our own, right?” With a grin, he handed over the now-useless proofs, which she took numbly. “We’ll allocate some of our second quarter budget, maybe work with some indie photographers then and save some funds, and then we’ll have extra money to fund this last-minute change. Go tell your team, and we can brainstorm during the day today. Let’s have a solid idea by tomorrow, and we can shoot first thing next week at the latest. Sound good?”

Was that her blood rushing in her ears? “Stellar,” she parried.

“Great!” 

Oh, that cheerfulness was _definitely_ grating on her nerves now. She stood, caught somewhere between panic and anger, completely uncertain how they were supposed to pull off a stunt like this, and started to head for the door.

“Oh, Marinette?”

Turning back to Adrien, she trained her expression into something that wasn’t wrath or distress. “Yes?”

That anger faded as Adrien’s mouth melted into a chagrined smile. “Sorry to put so much on you so quickly. I know it’s a gamble, but I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was going to be worthwhile. I trust you completely with this.” 

Damn him. It was hard to stay angry when he seemed so genuine. She could understand why he wanted to be ambitious about this - considering what he had to deal with early in his career, after all. “I won’t let you down,” she replied automatically, unable to say anything more substantial than the reassurance.

“I know you won’t.”

And apparently, that was all it took to land her in the same situation twice this week. It was a bad, bad sign that leaving Adrien’s office with a hot flush on her cheeks was becoming the norm.  
___

The amount of confidence Adrien had in Marinette and her team didn’t matter much once she had gathered them all up to tell them the bad news. 

“You’re joking, right?” Grace was the first to lose her composure, gaping at Marinette. “We’ve been working on this issue since January and now we have to start it all over?”

“Just our editorial,” Marinette offered, attempting to believe that it wasn’t as big of a deal as it sounded.

Grace scoffed. “That’s impossible. That’s _unreasonable_. I can’t believe he expects us to still meet our original deadline.”

“How are we supposed to source all of the styling we need?” Edmond looked like he was on the verge of tears or on the verge or a rant. “And we’re already at budget for this issue, I don’t know how our department is supposed to afford it.”

Marinette held up her hands, both placating and hushing. “I know this is beyond last minute. It’s a tough ask, but I also know we’re completely capable of handling this well, and showing that we’re a great team.” Unbidden, Adrien’s words slipped past her lips. “Let’s try to not look at it as a problem. Up until now, we haven’t had much chance to express ourselves in a work and make it our own. It’s an opportunity for each one of you and all of us as a whole.” 

_Damn_ him.

The room was hushed, but Justine conceded first. “Okay. Then we’ll start over.” 

Justine was a gem. Marinette smiled at her, feeling heartened by her agreement. “Exactly. Budget is approved, so don’t worry about any overages right now. We’ll have our concept by tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get started. Edmond, we won’t be able to source designers until tomorrow, but can you start booking photographers and hair and makeup for Monday? We have to have our shoot by then. Justine and Grace, since we won’t have content to go off of today, please help him out.” With each nod of agreement from her group, she felt a modicum of tension unspool from her spine. “Models we’ll… figure out. I’ll keep working on the concept, and we’ll get our mood board together tomorrow.”

There were still some grumbles, despite their assent, but it wasn’t her place to tell them how to feel about the sudden change. What she _was_ meant to do was lead them down the path of success as best as she could, not police their opinions. 

The team scattered from the conference room to scramble and start making arrangements for the next week. Marinette herself made her way back to her office, shutting the door behind her. Reveling in its blessed _silence_.

It was only midday, and she already felt exhausted. Everything was in motion now, but theI most pressing issue to contend with was the absence of a concept. They had no actual _content_ for this brand new feature. Crossing her arms, Marinette leaned against the side of her desk, facing the largely-empty pinboard across from her desk. Exhaling a frustrated breath, she stared hard, willing inspiration to strike.

Inspiration was a fickle, capricious bitch.

A good hour passed without her being able to think of anything worthwhile. She flipped through old issues of the magazine, checked her social media accounts for her favorite photographers, and zoned out at her desk, all without much success. She had some vague concepts, but usually they had much longer to come up with ideas. The deadline to have something good put together before the end of the day was nipping at her heels like an annoying, yappy dog.

She was startled out of her reverie with the shrill ringing of her office phone. 

Startled, she leaned over her desk to pick up her phone, neglecting to check the caller ID before answering. “Marinette.”

“Just who I was hoping for.” The warmth of the voice on the other line made her eyes snap to the screen on her phone. Of course. 

“Hi, Adrien.” Her voice tightened up as she slid down her chair. 

“I wanted to check in with you, see if you had any thoughts about what our feature should be.” 

Marinette glanced over the scribbled notes on her desk, feeling her stomach twist. “Uh… well, I have a couple of ideas.” 

“Same here. Nothing concrete yet, but we might be getting somewhere.” His voice being muffled by the receiver right against her ear made her hyper-sensitive to it, to the sound of his breath. “Listen, I have meetings for the rest of the day that I can’t shift, but if you’re available for a working dinner we could trade thoughts over some drinks. I hate to ask you to work through a meal, but I can make it worth your while.” 

Adamantly ignoring the heat in her cheeks, she swallowed thickly before responding, simultaneously wondering what ideas were good enough to bring to the table and if she was dressed even marginally well enough for wherever they’d be going. “I don’t mind. Name the place and I’m there.”

Marinette blankly took down the information for the wine bar he suggested meeting outside of at 7pm that night, then contemplated making a sacrifice to whatever fashion gods were listening that she was going to have time to run home and freshen up before they had to meet. 

___

Time _definitely_ wasn’t on her side that afternoon. She ran around for the rest of the day, helping the team get details together for Monday’s alleged shoot. By the time she was able to extricate herself from the office, she had to head right to the wine bar Adrien wanted to meet at to go over the editorial, leaving her no time to check in on how she looked. With a sigh, she pulled her hair out of her low bun, leaving it in slightly disheveled waves as she headed towards the wine bar, folder of ideas in tow.

It was close enough that she was able to just walk there, but her nervousness made her walk there rather quickly. The early March night was warmer than past days, so by the time she arrived right at seven, she felt overheated and flushed. Adrien wasn’t there yet, so she used the chance to catch her breath. 

Exhaling slowly, trying to slow her pulse, she shrugged off her light pink blazer, leaving her in the black racer-back dress she had worn to work. The cooler air felt good on her shoulders and collar bones, and she sighed, positioning herself against the large hedge framing the front of the wine bar, out of the way of other patrons. 

Originally, she had hoped that she was going to get the chance to grow accustomed to her job before the real challenges began. Her promotion came right when she believed the spring issue was done, so she thought she’d have at least a few weeks to get more comfortable. Instead, she was thrown headlong into chaos, into what could be perceived as a worst-case scenario with this issue. A lot was at stake, and so much earlier than she anticipated.

She tilted her head back, letting the cool night air ruffle her hair around her shoulders, drying the uncomfortable pinpricks of sweat behind her ears. The crown of her head brushed against the hedge behind her, where new flowers were starting to bloom. Light and dark pink carpet roses were making themselves prominent, ignorant of the gloomy weather, heralding the onset of spring. 

A few long, still moments passed while she attempted to center herself before she heard her name called softly. 

For once, she didn’t feel her heart leap into her throat or her stomach drop out when she met Adrien’s gaze. She was trying to make sense of the strange look he was giving her, an emotion flitting across his striking face that she couldn’t place. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he finally said, unreadable. “Let’s go in, before they sacrifice our seat to another party.”

The wine bar had a natural wood interior, soft glowing lights, and an atmosphere way more romantic than Marinette hoped for a work dinner. Adrien shrugged, as if in apology, as they sat down. “I have to admit, I’m being a little selfish about our restaurant choice. This place serves great bordeaux, if you’ve a mind for reds.”

“I’m more of a prosecco person myself,” she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she set her notes on the table. She had put her blazer back on, self-consciously covering herself back up. 

“ _Prosecco_? You traitor. Traditore! Defecting to _Italian_ wines.”

She snorted, lifting up the menu, perusing the options. It was bizarre to be called a traitor, even in jest, when she had once been one of the safekeepers of their capital. “Says the person who spent most of his adulthood outside of his native country.”

Marinette froze, feeling realization chill her veins. She lowered her menu, taking in Adrien’s expression. “Uh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to… you know.”

It wasn’t a secret that Adrien had left Paris and hadn’t returned for some time. Marinette just happened to know more of the reasons why than anyone else.

Adrien shook his head, what appeared to be a well-practiced smile on his face. “No worries. I know I suffered quite a bit, travelling the world. My burden to bear, I suppose.”

Thankfully, the waiter arrived to take their order, saving her from shoving her foot further into her mouth. They ordered their respective favorites and a few appetizers, and slid into another silence.

“Uh, so.” Marinette cleared her throat, lifting her notes. “Here are my pitches for the feature. Just some ideas to help brainstorm, mostly, but…” She handed over the folder, and he started to go through it for a moment. 

After a moment, he stopped, putting it back down. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go through these after this, then send you some thoughts. Does that work for you?”

Confused, she gave her assent. If he just wanted to have her hand off her work, then what was the point of her coming out to meet him? 

Their wines arrived, and Adrien lifted his glass to her, either ignorant to or willfully ignoring her confusion. “I’m glad we’re working together. To a fresh start?”

A week ago, she would have snorted and rolled her eyes if anyone suggested that she was going to be reunited with Adrien Agreste, toasting he over some very expensive wine that she very much needed. Lifting her glass, the thin crystal chimed as she clinked them together. “A fresh start.”

The appetizers arrived, but Marinette couldn’t stop looking at her folder underneath Adrien’s elbow. If he wanted to go over her pitches on his own time, that was his prerogative. So why the dinner invite? What was bad enough news that necessitated having the conversation outside of the office? If he felt the need to reprimand her or her department, was he even _allowed_ to do that outside of the office? 

“You with me?”

Marinette’s eyes tracked back up to Adrien’s, his voice drawing her back. “Of course.” Embarrassed, she reached over to spear a crudité with her fork. “Sorry for zoning out. I’m just…” _Freaking out over the possibility that my career could ride on this last-minute decision of yours?_ “Hoping everything comes together for the editorial.” She shoved the food into her mouth, hoping that chewing would keep her from saying anything stupid.

Adrien’s confidence should have been diluted into a tincture and sold worldwide. “It will. Don’t think about it for now, we’ll be able to wrap that up tomorrow.” Easy for him to say when he was coming from a position of power. Was there a word for confused _and_ annoyed? They had barely over a week to get this together, concept to execution to finishing, and more and more Marinette wished they had just gone with the safe, predictable option they already had.

“In fact, I have a second selfish confession to make.” Adrien’s lips were quirked at the rim of his wine glass, and Marinette felt the gears of her brain shift. Should she worry that her two modes all week were either Panic About Work or Wallow in Existential Crisis About Adrien?

She swallowed. “By all means.” 

Adrien lowered his wine glass to the table, and for the first time she saw him do something that wasn’t debonair or confident. He _fidgeted_. His smooth hands twisted the stem of the wine glass, making the liquid inside swirl. “I did want to discuss work, initially.” She was fixated on the movement of his hands as he twirled the glass. “Then I got here, and then I realized it was more important to get to spend time with you.” 

The glass stopped. Marinette looked up to see Adrien staring her down as he went on. “So let’s catch up. Work will be there tomorrow, but I want to hear about what you’ve been up to.” He shrugged, grinning. “As someone pointed out, I’ve been out of my home country too long to know what’s been happening to everyone. So get me up to speed.”

With a huff, she reached for her wine glass, taking a long swig before setting it back down. “Well, if you insist.” As if she could ignore a request like that. Haltingly, she told him about university, living with Alya for a few years, what had happened to their friends since they disbanded. Dinner arrived, and with it came conversation that slowly softened into something comfortable for Marinette. Call it the constantly refilling wine, or the atmosphere, or the chance to talk to Adrien outside of the propriety of an office building, but she felt herself start to let her guard down around him, little by little. 

By the time their food was cleared away and Adrien paid the bill, asserting that it was a working dinner, she was laughing, feeling the buzz of wine loosening her tongue. “Trust me, you’re lucky you weren’t here for the Alya-Nino breakup. She was ready to move on, and he just kind of… wasn’t. It was all for the best, anyway. He’s off touring with that band he helps manage, and she’s working all the time. Neither of them have time for a relationship.” 

“I understand that _perfectly_ ,” Adrien drawled, draining the last of his current glass of wine. Whether he was alluding to constant work or lack of a relationship, she couldn’t tell. 

That’s when Marinette decided she definitely had consumed too much wine, because something about his tone of voice, his inflection, made a wave of nostalgia pass through her. She scrubbed her face with one hand, checking her watch. “Ah, I should probably get going. I want to catch the train before it’s too late.”

“Nonsense.” Adrien stood, gathering her notes and putting them in his briefcase. “I’ll call you a cab.”

Marinette tried shaking her head, feeling her senses spin as she did so. “No no, I don’t mind.”

“I _insist_.” He gave her a slight bow, lips quirked up in a teasing smirk. “I’m the one who dragged you out here past our curfew. Let me be a gentleman.” 

His mannerisms were more fluid and relaxed now, different from the professionalism she had seen all week, making her idiotic heart thump. She forced herself to roll her eyes, standing and getting her things. “Only because I’m assuming it’s going to get expensed. I can get a cab on my own if I wanted to.”

Marinette went outside while Adrien called a cab at the maître d's station, wrapping her arms around herself. The air had gotten chillier, but the soft fragrance of new flowers forcing their way into existence still wafted in the air. 

“Do you mind if I ask you a favor?”

Marinette started as she turned, seeing Adrien _fidget again_ , rare as lightning striking twice in the same place. Either that, or she was drunker than she thought. “Go ahead.”

Adrien lifted his cell phone. “Can I take a photo of you?”

Was it a full moon or something, causing all of these bizarre situations today? Or was it just par for the course with the week she was having? Marinette squinted at him. “Of… me? Here? Now?”

He laughed. The throaty sound made her feel warm. “Hence the question, yeah.”

Alya always said that different types of alcohol evoked different kinds of drunk in a person. At least in Marinette’s experiences, gin was for when she wanted to get happily drunk, tequila was for when she wanted to get annihilated, and wine was for when she wanted to feel bold. Straightening her shoulders, she tilted her chin up. “For posterity? Go ahead.” 

Adrien snapped a picture, then pretended to size up the photo, holding his free hand up like a cinematographer framing a shot. She laughed, the sound bubbling up from her chest. 

For some reason, he looked smug as pocketed his phone, and her cab pulled up. “Your chariot awaits, mademoiselle.” 

The world didn’t spin, but it gently tilted as Marinette made her way to the cab, opening it up. She paused before climbing in, smiling at him. “See you bright and early, Monsieur Agreste.” 

He met her gaze, face absent of a smile. “Looking forward to it.”

Were she sober, she would have spent the ride home wondering what that expression meant.

___

Ladybug and Chat Noir were frozen outside of their destination. Had the light still been pointing to the horizon, perhaps they would have been able to discount it as a fluke, to keep looking for where they were meant to be headed, but the purple light was bright now, an illuminated pinprick on the map above an outline of the house they stood in front of. There was no denying that the place they were meant to find their nemesis Papillon was right in front of them.

Well, house was a gross understatement. The Agreste Estate always looked more like a mansion, anyway.

___

When Marinette woke up in the morning, a tame hangover gently pulsing behind her eyebrows, she lifted her work phone to find an email from Adrien simply titled ‘Editorial Concept’. Attached were a few photos: a dark floral gouache painting. Highly contrasted photos of vibrant flowers, close-up. And a photo of her from last night. Laughing, dark hair curling around her face, dressed in black as roses bloomed behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again! Had a bit of trouble muddling through this chapter but I'm getting our kiddos to where they need to be for the plot to move forward. Thank you all for your kudos and super sweet comments! It makes me really happy to know that people are enjoying this.
> 
> Eternal love to my beta [K0bot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/K0bot/pseuds/K0bot). If you like Voltron: Legendary Defender, check out her KLance fic!

She didn’t look like herself.

The photo was of her, obviously, though she didn’t recall taking it. Marinette hadn’t been drunk enough to forget about the night before. Her head might have been pounding, a cautionary tale against going to bed tipsy and dehydrated, but the blurred edges of her memories didn’t keep her from remembering the uncomfortable pseudo-date. The _only_ thing omitted from her mind was Adrien’s odd request.

She had flopped into bed unceremoniously last night, clothes haphazardly tugged off and makeup still on her face. Making a noise of disgust, she rubbed a knuckle under one racooned eye to wipe away smudged mascara and help clear her vision a little bit.

The photo was of her, but not through the lens she was used to seeing herself.

Marinette had hundreds of photos of herself on her phone - face-scrunched selfies she sent to Alya, photos of her and her friends out dancing, posed photos with her parents out to lunch. She was comfortable enough with the way she looked on camera, even if she had her fair share of deleted photos because she was making a weird face or she didn’t like the way her smile looked.

This was the first time a photo made her feel...caught, for lack of a better word. Exposed. The candid shot captured her laughing, not consciously smiling. Her cheeks were flushed, hair in tresses only accomplished from unintentional hair twisting instead of purposeful curling. It made it feel like her heart was in her throat. It felt _intimate_. 

The realization that this picture of her was part of the concept slammed into her like a car crash.

“God _dammit_.” Yanking herself out of bed, Marinette stumbled into the bathroom, tripping over her own feet, scrubbing off yesterday’s makeup and rushing her way through a shower. She lathered her hair furiously, cursing all the while. The last thing she wanted was that photo to be used as part of their mood board, and to be on the receiving end of all of the questions that would come with it.

Where did that photo come from? Why did Adrien take it? You went out to dinner? How well do you know each other? How _well_ do you _know_ each other?

Yeah, no. She was not going to let rumors start because of a photo taken out of context. Marinette rushed to work, leg jiggling nervously on the cab ride over. She was determined to skip the train to get there early and take the photo out of the inspiration pile without Adrien knowing. If that failed, she would run into his office, prostrate herself across the floor, and beg him not to include the incriminating picture. 

A run through the lobby and an anxious elevator ride later, she was arriving on her floor, the melodious ‘ding’ as the doors opened a cruel counterpart to her anxiety.

All she had to do was get to Adrien first. She’d drop off her stuff, then book it up to his floor. Easy.

Except, of course, nothing could ever be easy. There he was - standing with _her_ team over _their_ huddle space, pictures spread out in front of him, the sight enough to make her stop in her tracks. He was gesturing to the photos animatedly, with Justine and Grace on one side, Edmond on the other. Apparently they had taken the emergency situation to heart, and had gotten to work early too.

Marinette would have been impressed if she wasn’t about to scream.

Adrien looked up and smiled at her. “Marinette! I was just showing everyone the concept we came up with.” 

“I can see that,” she replied weakly, eyes scouring the table as she took uncertain steps towards the cobbled-together mood board. She was frantically trying to recognize her face from a distance, looking for the incriminating photo. By now, her team was sure to have seen it. Horrible embarrassment at best and being ostracized from the department at worst were inevitable.

Or would have been, if the photo of her had been there.

Marinette bored into the table with her gaze. Nothing. The other reference pictures Adrien sent were there, along with additional ones the others must have supplied and some fabric samples from various collections this year. Her work brain would have provided that they were already trying their best to source designers who would have relevant work, which was good, but her panicked personal life brain was driving at the moment. Slightly at a loss, Marinette looked up towards Adrien. He just smiled.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Justine groused, lifting several fabric swatches, “I was just saying that we’re going to have to start getting designers on board today. No idea who, because everybody under the goddamn sun decided that ‘flower print’ is passé.” Adrien looked towards her, and Justine gestured in the air vaguely, rolling her eyes. “Sorry, _dark floral_. I get you, have to brand it right from the get-go, I get you.”

Marinette spared a thought for her future work acumen if Justine was able to be her blunt self with Adrien so quickly. 

At the moment, the threat of humiliation was more pressing. For whatever reason, that damning photo was missing in action. Marinette’s thoughts raced as she approached the table, hands spreading over photos and notes in a pantomime of concentration as she tried to sort out her deductive reasoning. 

Adrien took that photo of her, then kept it. He wanted her to see it for some reason, otherwise he wouldn’t have emailed it to her. Maybe because it was similar to whatever his inspiration was for this dark floral design? It was relevant enough to him to show it to her, but not enough to have it be part of the photo inspiration for their editorial. Or maybe he thought she’d want the photo for herself, and just sent it to her before deleting it, making the attachment to a work email coincidental? 

She felt a flare of annoyance. Here she was, her first week in a new job, focused on the emotional semantics of an email attachment instead of focusing on a critical situation. Which was _stupid_. There was no reason why she had to be so off-kilter because of her boss, regardless of her feelings about him. Her _past_ feelings about him. 

“Hard part’s over,” she asserted, finally looking up to her team. “We know what our direction is, so let’s roll with it. We just have to figure out… designers. And models.” She huffed out a breath. “But at least we have some logistics figured out.” _Vérité_ was well-respected, but getting anyone decent in the next few days who wasn’t totally booked up was going to be a miracle.

“Leave the latter to me.” Adrien’s words naturally and easily commanded the attention of the room. “I’m owed some favors from past colleagues. Now seems as good a time as any to cash them in.” He seemed entirely unflustered by the idea that he, a former supermodel, could call in ‘past colleagues’, who were presumably models of a similar popularity, so easily. 

Far be it from her to turn down an easy solution. “In that case, I’ll take care of designers. Let’s huddle up again at the end of the day and see what we’ve come up with, okay?” With nods of varying distress levels from her teammates, she turned towards her office, deliberately not making eye contact with Adrien. If she did, she was sure to set herself on another meaningless spiral of over-thinking, wondering what the email that morning meant. 

Brusquely, she went into her office and shut the door, resigning herself to several hours worth of networking. Marinette had the challenge of finding designers who were in town, available to send pieces, had pieces that _worked_ for what they wanted to accomplish, and were willing to play ball. 

There were quite a few independent designers she could reach out to, but she knew that she was going to have to do some cajoling and schmoozing to help soothe the wounds of the designers that were promised pages in the pastel feature. Likely higher exposure in the future, or some kind of high-end client treatment. With a sigh, she made a note to have Adrien and Marchand approve gifts being sent to those getting booted from the issue to avoid any snubbed feelings.

With that, she started to send out rapid-fire emails and make phone calls, the cogs in her brain churning as she remembered past social interactions, doing her best to be fresh-voiced and peppy in each of her new conversations. Quite a few people she contacted turned her down out of hand - if they didn’t have something already created that fit the theme of the editorial, they were certainly not going to make something in only a few days. Luckily, there were enough bites and designers willing to have pieces picked up by _Vérité_ assistants over the next day or two that she wasn’t going to have to send models naked covered in bouquets to the shoot.

When the promotion to Fashion Editor was first offered, Marinette felt the threads of uncertainty weave their way through her confidence. Was she cut out to do this job? Growing up, she wasn’t exactly the most assertive - it wasn’t until things went sideways in the line of duty as Ladybug that she figured out how to stand up for the things she wanted. She had some passing leadership skills and she liked people, but when it came to the cutthroat aspect of work she tended to falter. Marinette didn’t want to compromise her way of doing things, _ever_ , but it did make her wonder if she wasn’t going to succeed in the long run because of her desire to please people.

So far was so good, at least. She was facing a logistical disaster only a few days in, and somehow she was managing not to lose her sanity. Sighing out her exhaustion, Marinette leaned back in her chair, feeling her spine crick a few times as she assumed a more relaxed posture. She glanced at the clock, unsurprised that lunch had come and gone without her notice as her neglected stomach started to complain. Missing meals was becoming all too commonplace, without her even having any choice in the matter. She just felt bad sending someone else to get her food when she was fully capable of getting it herself. 

As if on cue, a knock resounded from the door, and Marinette straightened herself up from her slumped posture. “Come in.” Her voice sounded raspy from all of the talking on the phone, too-quiet, and she cleared her throat. 

A coffee and a pastry bag entered the room first, so Marinette thought for a fraction of a moment that Justine was being her savior once again. She was about to groan out her appreciation when the hand led into the body in possession of it, and Adrien walked into her office. 

Of course, that prompted her into straightening up even more. The emotional whiplash this man was bringing into her life was exhausting. “Hi. Anything I can help you with?”

“Just the opposite, actually.” Casual as can be, he bumped open the office door the rest of the way with his hip, then lifted up the coffee and pastry bag from the cafe outside. “Ran downstairs to get myself something, and I thought you might need a pick-me-up. Or bribery, for putting up with this week.”

“You’re my boss,” Marinette replied automatically, tone flat. “You don’t have to bribe me to make me do what you want.”

 _Ugh_. Everything that came out of her mouth either sounded like she was pissed at him, propositioning him in some way, or both. Her lips pressed together as soon as her fat mouth decided to stop running away from her.

Adrien laughed, apparently unruffled. “True. Maybe I don’t, but I think my longevity gets better prospects with a happy editor.” He strode forward, placing the offering of caffeine and carbs on her desk. “Wasn’t sure exactly what you wanted, so I went with a best guess. Coffee has cream with no sugar.”

Best guess? More like exactly what she always gets - growing up surrounded by sweets put Marinette in a good position to judge pastries and the like on quality, but not with too much of a sweet tooth from over-exposure. “That’s fine, thank you.” The bag crinkled as she opened it, revealing a savory croissant. _Dammit_. 

“I also wanted to check in.” Adrien leaned against one of the chairs in front of Marinette’s desk instead of sitting down. “Got my favors called in. I have four models willing to come do a studio photoshoot Monday morning, with two extra backups in case anyone cancels. We’re good. How are things on the fashion front?”

She gestured to her copious notes around her. “All arranged. I’ll give the list to Edmond and have him and his team get runners over to the studios all day tomorrow so we have everything in time for Monday.” Marinette exhaled slowly, momentarily in disbelief. “We might actually pull this off.” 

“I knew we would.” 

That smile of his, so warm and all-encompassing, was too much for her. Averting her eyes, she lowered her gaze back to the croissant in the white paper bag. Her stomach churned again, confusion setting it off more than hunger this time.

Why was she feeling so off her game with him? She wanted to excuse it with the chaos happening that week, with having a new job and a new boss both at once, but that didn’t seem truthful. In all honesty, the juxtaposition of her expectations (demanding Editor-in-Chief) against what she was actually experiencing (childhood crush turned into a collaborative and thoughtful boss) was making her feel entirely out of sorts. Marinette anticipated impossible demands and stress, and instead was met with jokes and kindness and an intimate photo with no note. He wasn’t acting any differently than the Adrien she remembered, so why was she expecting the worst? 

The end of lycée had been impossibly hard on him, but he hadn’t changed then, save for a melancholy overtone to his kindness.

“You’re being so… I don’t know.” What was the best and most professional way to put it? “You’re being very accommodating about all this. You aren’t worried?”

He shrugged with one shoulder, affable. “We can order a rush job on the photo edits and hopefully have them by mid-week, and definitely have the write-ups done and ready to submit with the photos by the end of next week. We’ll be right on time.” His expression warmed, honey-sweet and saccharine in Marinette’s eyes. “Like I said, I have complete faith in you. Well, in everything but your choice in wine.”

That was enough to draw her out of her confusion and into indignation. “Excuse me, but you can’t compare prosecco and bordeaux. Completely different kinds of wine.”

Adrien straightened, standing once more. “Alright, I yield. Next time I’ll meet you in the middle with some Crémant de Bordeaux so you can stop all this _whining_.”

Making a noise of disgust, she rolled her eyes, second nature taking over her impulses to behave a certain way in front of him. “That was _awful_.” 

“I aim to please.” With a tiny bow (was that seriously a quirk of his?) he started to back out of the room. “Send along those designers, and we’ll make sure everything is prepared tomorrow. Thanks, Marinette.”

“You got it,” she replied, helplessly watching his retreating form leave her office.

A fraction of a second passed between Adrien departing and Justine walking in. Marinette frowned, eyebrow raised as Justine shut the door without a word.

The trendy brunette was pretty talkative usually. She was blunt, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have commentary for the things going on around her in spades. That’s why it was so odd to see her smoothly take a seat across from her without a word, severe bob perfectly framing her face as she mirrored Marinette’s eyebrow.

“Yes?” Was she bringing her bad news? That seemed to be in abundance that week.

Justine paused for a long moment before tilting her head at Marinette. “So, tell me.” Her legs crossed at the knee as she leaned back in her chair. “Do you know any other scintillating information about our new leader, or just his taste in wine?”

Instantly, Marinette felt color race across her cheeks. She sputtered for a moment before swallowing back her indignant shock. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m just saying,” Justine cooed, looking for all the world like a very hungry cat recently sated on a canary. “If you know what wine Agreste likes to drink, you might know _more_ about him.” She grinned at the growing expression of horror on Marinette’s face. "Now the question is, how much can I get you to tell me?" 

Exhaling through her nose slowly was a good way to help keep a dampener on her temper, right? “I don’t know why that’s weird to know. We’ve just talked this week, that’s all.”

“Mm.” Justine examined her manicure for a second, perfect and unchipped black. “Or you know him.” 

“Of course I know him. He’s _Adrien Agreste_. Everyone in this hemisphere knows him.”

“You know what I mean.”

She huffed. “No, I _don’t_ know what you mean.”

Justine raised her eyes to meet hers. “That’s certainly not a suspicious avoidance of the question.”

Now she felt trapped. An omission of information was just as bad as admitting guilt to someone like Justine, who could easily read between the lines with a glaring scrutiny. However, if she told her that she had known Adrien since she was younger, she was never going to hear the end of it. Either way, she wasn’t facing a positive outcome.

Exasperated, she sighed. “Fine. We had a business dinner last night. And that’s _all_.”

Justine’s smile looked suspiciously satisfied as she stood up. “Of course. Business dinner, with wine. And a next time.” She started to exit, ignoring Marinette’s choked response. “I’m just saying!”

“Don’t make me call HR on you!” Justine laughed in retaliation, opening the door and leaving Marinette alone with a scowl on her face.

___

“I’m not going in there.”

Ladybug was ripped from her focus, concentration yanked from the Agreste Estate to Chat by her side. “What?”

The Chat Noir bubbling over with assurances and confidence minutes ago was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her partner was shaking his head, hands up defensively as his chemical-green gaze was riveted to the mansion in the distance. “I’m _not_ going in there. Are you kidding me? Something has to be wrong with that tracker. It wasn’t a good idea for us to trust it in the first place.”

Crossing her arms, she frowned at Chat, scrutinizing him. “What happened to ‘let’s not keep him waiting’? This is the closest we’ve come to a lead on Papillon so far, and _now_ you’re acting all weird about it? We should at least investigate.”

“No way. We know who lives there. I _know_ you do because you’ve mentioned him before.” Chat started to pace along the roof, obviously agitated. “There’s no way either of them are involved, so it’s a mistake. It’s as simple as that. Let’s just chalk this up to a waste of time, move on with our evenings, and forget this ever happened.”

Ladybug felt a surge of frustration, hands on her hips. She couldn’t deny she was feeling just as upset and disoriented by where the tracker had led them. Was anyone in the Agreste household responsible? As far as she knew, the staff there was limited, but there were a few employees that surrounded Adrien and his father. 

The worst outcome possible was Papillon inside the estate, and somehow manipulating the Agrestes. What if he was hiding there, or an imposter among them? 

What if Adrien was in trouble?

That notion was enough to make her gut twist with worry. “What, and forget the one opportunity we have to maybe have the jump on Papillon? He could be in there, and you’re willing to walk away from this? Someone might get hurt if we ignore this. You’re telling me you’re okay with that?”

Turning on his heel, Chat’s eyes blazed with anger. “And you’re willing to think someone in that house is _actually responsible_ for everything we’ve been going through for years?”

“I’m not going to dismiss it as a possibility, like you are.” Scowling, she jutted her finger at Chat, accusatory. “You can’t walk away from this! We might be close to Papillon, and you’re being a… a scaredy-cat!”

“And _you’re_ being stubborn about this!”

Ladybug balked, practically spitting back at Chat. “You’re being a coward!”

“Maybe I am!” Oh. Ladybug watched Chat Noir’s lips clamp together, even though he was shaking, the anger radiating off of him. She felt taken aback, stilled as Chat towered over her. “Maybe I _am_ a coward.” In an instant, the anger seemed to seep out of him, but the trembling remained. “I… I don’t know what’s in there. Neither of us do, but seeing it here… someplace we both know…” Shaking his head, he started to turn from her. “I can’t.”

There had been moments when Ladybug and Chat Noir struggled. Saying so was pretty much the understatement of the century. The past few years had been _hard_ , physically and emotionally demanding, but one of the things Ladybug could always rely on was Chat. He was unfailingly positive, willing to fight for people who needed to be saved. When she had been reticent about their duties, he had thrived as Chat Noir. When she was unsure, he was confident in her abilities and cheered her on. Seeing him like this, so shaken, was disturbing. 

“Hey.” She reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “We can. I’m… I’m sorry for calling you a coward. You aren’t. That was out of line.”

Chat Noir let a facsimile of a smile ghost across his face. “Not sorry about calling me a scaredy-cat?”

She smiled softly in response. “Never.” Squeezing his arm, she caught his eyes, trying to draw him back in to her. “I know this is… strange. And scary. But what if anyone in there is in danger? What if they need us?”

Chat Noir shrugged, still tense as a live wire. “So we disturb a family and… what? Tell them that one of their own is Papillon, or in association with him? What if we’re wrong, and just frighten them for no reason?” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “What if we’re right? What do we do?”

Ladybug hadn’t considered that far. Chasing their nemesis across Paris was one thing, but facing the reality that it might be someone they knew, facing the sneaking suspicion in her gut that she didn’t want to give voice to yet, was a completely different kind of monster. “We just…” She made a helpless noise, idly rubbing her hand up and down Chat Noir’s arm. “We do what we’ve always promised to do.”

“Oh?” He looked so _joyless_ like this, fear and uncertainty instead of his usual buoyant charisma so unfamiliar on him. “And what’s that?”

“To save Paris, no?”

Ladybug wondered if Chat Noir remembered saying the same words to her. It felt like an eon ago, but the day they first met, he was so sure of his abilities and of her, in their _purpose_ , and he ran headlong into danger because he just _knew_ what they were meant to do. Save Paris. _Together_. 

The look on his face told her that he remembered saying those words just as perfectly as she did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So life kind of roundhouse kicked me in the face and knocked me on my ass writing-wise the last few months. Back at it again now!

Her breath was caught in her throat, near-suffocating as they stalked through the night. Ladybug and Chat descended from the row of apartments they’d been standing aloft on, lowering to the ground to approach the austere mansion in front of them.

Ladybug had managed to assure Chat Noir that they were heroically forging on with their duty, but she wasn’t so sure herself. The silent pulse of purple light led them here in the first place, but now that they were committed, she felt uncertainty trickle through her, like a chill in her blood. As they approached closer, winding around to the back of the estate, the domes and arches loomed higher, inciting their own form of dread.

The signal led them there - that much was true. But what would they find inside? Was Adrien trapped, unable to call for help?

Could the situation be even worse than she feared?

Swallowing thickly as they arrived at the back wall of the estate, Ladybug gripped her yo-yo, glancing at Chat. He was silent throughout their descent, and inscrutable now as he stared up the foreboding wall. She chalked up his reticence up to the same fear she was digesting. They had no clue what kind of situation they were waltzing into, if this was legitimate.

“How do we get in?” Her voice was a hushed whisper, sounding too-loud to her own ears. “You said we shouldn’t go through the front door, so here we are.”

Chat shrugged, his convivial banter absent as he murmured back. “No point. If this is what we think it is, that’s… not going to help us. Can’t blow our cover. We have to sneak in.” He pointed up to a landing beyond wrought-iron fencing, near the base of the mansion’s spire. “We go up there.”

Ladybug spared a lingering look towards Adrien’s darkened bedroom windows, then up to the landing Chat was indicating, two tiers above them. “Why not the balcony right below it, with all of the big windows? There’s got to be an entrance there.”

Without hesitation, Chat shook his head. “Won’t work. We’ll go through one of the side windows.”

She frowned. “Why are you so sure? Won’t it be better to be able to see if anyone is around through the windows, instead of dropping in on a room we can’t scope out first?”

The lines of his expression grew more pronounced as he coiled tighter, tension obvious in every angle of his body. “I’m just sure. I can see better than you from here.”

“Fine,” she scoffed back under her breath, not willing to make a fight out of their perceived capabilities it when they were losing time as it was. In the next moment, Chat was in the air, baton extended as he vaulted himself up to the landing. Ladybug followed, but not right behind him. She stubbornly wrapped the end of her yo-yo around the first balcony she had indicated.

“What are you doing?” Chat hissed from the top balcony as he looked down.

“Just checking on something,” she shot back before following the course of her yo-yo, accelerating up and then dangling just below the largest balcony to peer into Adrien’s room.

Under different circumstances, peering into her crush’s room at night would have been so mortifying that she wouldn’t even consider it, but with fear for his safety at the front of her mind, she couldn’t even muster up a sliver of embarrassment.

“We don’t have time for this.” Chat’s voice upticked in urgency, cutting through the air as Ladybug pressed her free hand against the glass, helping her eyes adjust as she spied into the dark room, searching for Adrien. “You’re wasting time sightseeing, and we need to hurry up before-”

The room was empty.

“Oh _no_.”

Adrenaline spiking, she yanked on her yo-yo again, arcing her trajectory up to Chat Noir’s landing, panic alight in her eyes. “Adrien is gone.”

Chat paused, exhaling shakily. “Then time isn’t on our side. Let’s hurry.”

___

After the first four harrowing days of work that week, Marinette thought she knew what constituted as ‘busy’. Now, she was aware just how pathetically wrong she was. Friday was absolute _chaos_. As soon as she arrived in the office, she was pulled in ten different directions. Did they get the photographer Adrien requested to sign his contract and an NDA? Were the models confirmed? Was the studio space booked? A barrage of details that they usually had weeks to sort out had to be smoothed over in a day, and it was making her pulse pound in her temples. She had no qualms working over the weekend if need be, but most of the people they were working with for this shoot weren’t sympathetic to their accelerated timeline, and might not be available until Monday, _after_ they needed to have the shoot. Her team had to get everything figured out today, no question.

Her department only had two assistants, Renée and Lucie, who were both running all over town to pick up pieces from various designers who agreed to join in on the editorial. As it was, they had to send extra couriers around to pick up what the two assistants couldn’t - all extra costs she had to approve, of course. Grace, Edmond and Justine were on their phones endlessly, making final confirmations with hair and makeup, grip crew, the studio, all while reassuring internal teams that _yes_ , they were starting the editorial over, and _yes_ , it would be done in time.

So Marinette hoped. If anything went off the rails with Monday, they were six kinds of screwed.

The near-panic level of activity, paired with her week-long Adrien-origin anxiety and topped off with a dash of offense at Justine’s snide commentary the day before had Marinette in a sour mood. Earlier that week she had agreed that changing the direction of the editorial could be to their benefit; she was now coming to the conclusion that past Marinette was a complete asshole.

Her hair _was_ in a chignon that morning, but as midday approached tendrils were tugging free. She had given up running around in heels, and demoted herself to the extra pair of flats she kept in her desk so she could easily dart between departments. She was stressed, wound-up, and most of all _not_ looking forward to the end of the day.

Despite the complete near-disaster they were dealing with, Adrien hadn’t taken the Team Drinks event off of the books. They were still invited to a department outing for the night, and after the week she was having Marinette wanted nothing more than to go home, put on some sweatpants, drink some wine, and fall asleep on the couch with the TV on. Socializing with her coworkers - all of whom were at the end of their patience after such an exhausting week - was nowhere near what she wanted to have to deal with, but she couldn’t very well say _no_. Adrien was showing the incentive to help her department get to know him, and it’d look bad if she opted out. The desire to pay attention to team building was great even if it happened to be during the worst possible week. She would just have to be supportive.

In the face of the potent cocktail of deadlines bearing down on her and her rising dread, the day barrelled onward. By the time Edmond was knocking on the doorframe of her office, she was startled from her computer and the update on pieces Lucie had emailed to the team, realizing that the sun was already setting and casting shadows in her office. “Hey, what’s up?”

Edmond extended a stack of papers towards her, neatly stapled. “There it is. Outline of Monday’s schedule, plus all of our expected load-in times for crew and contact information for everyone. You’re welcome”

As she took the papers, Marinette’s lips quirked up. “Thank you, Edmond. What would I do without you?”

He shrugged, a one-shouldered nonchalant move. “Fail spectacularly.”

She rolled her eyes. “Forget I asked.”

“Just telling the truth.” With a sniff, Edmond indicated the schedule with a chin jut. “Can you run that by Agreste for me? If he’s showing up to the shoot on Monday, we want to know when to expect him so the crew is prepared for an executive walk-through.”

“Of course.” She gathered up the papers as Edmond exited, then started to make her way to the elevator, schedule in tow. It was frustrating, finally getting used to handling the moods and whims of executives, and then being forced to start all over again with a new boss. Had this been Camille, she would have reassured Edmond that they should just be prepared no matter what time she would arrive and stay professional, but she now had to start from square one and see what Adrien’s patterns of behavior were. Selfishly, she realized that her first inclination wasn’t to find out for the sake of her team. She wanted to know when he was coming by so she could prepare _herself_. This was a good enough excuse to get the information from him.

It was late enough in the day that a few offices and cubicles were already vacated on Adrien’s floor. As she approached his office, the sound of a tinny voice on speakerphone prompted her into slowing down. A tinny, _loud_ voice.

“Walk me through why I have PR flooding my email with concerns over what we’re doing.” Marchand’s gruff, clipped voice echoed from the phone through the near-empty office, all too audible to Marinette.

“I can see where they’re coming from, but they don’t have any reason to worry.” In contrast, Adrien’s voice sounded pleasant, soothing, shot through with a note of practiced assurance. “We’ll have the new editorial done by the end of next week. This is ultimately the best choice for us, and the fashion team is pulling it together efficiently.”

“I’m not asking if the fashion team is performing adequately. That’s their _job_. I’m asking why you decided to abandon tactics as soon as you walked in the door. When I said you had the ability to make executive decisions, I didn’t mean anything as reckless as scrapping the last editorial.”

“I understand that,” she heard Adrien reply, voice taut. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it was a worthwhile risk. If we want to refresh the magazine, being stagnant isn’t the way to do it. This is a strong step forward towards change without alienating our current audience. That’s something that PR should see the benefit of, too.”

It was abundantly clear that this wasn’t a conversation she was meant to hear, but she was so close to his office now that if she walked away, Adrien might hear her retreat.

That was what she told herself at least, but if she was being honest she was hideously curious, and couldn’t resist listening in despite how terrible it was to do.

“ _You_ might think so, but keep in mind that a good portion of our readers were Camille loyalists.” Marinette had heard Marchand’s condescending tone before many times, but it was unsettling hearing him use it on Adrien so soon. “Too many changes too quickly will cost us. If this extraneous expense of yours doesn’t help improve our subscription numbers, then we may need to have a larger discussion. We took a chance on young talent like yours because of your family’s legacy, Adrien. Understand _that_.” The click followed by silence was enough indication that Marchand hung up.

The resounding silence left Marinette feeling untethered. Hearing anyone get chastised was bad enough in the second-hand embarrassment department, but listening to the aloof Marchand chew out Adrien made her feel beyond uncomfortable. Was she supposed to sneak away? Start to make noise like she was just walking up to his office now? Tuck and roll into an empty office?

She was preparing to slink back to the elevator and go back to her desk, noise be damned, when the sound of a too-close sigh made her nearly jump out of her skin. Adrien had emerged from his office while her back was turned, running one hand through his hair, the other scrolling through his cell phone.

Of course, there was no time for her to adequately hide when he looked up, harried expression morphing into one of slight confusion.

“Um,” she prompted, praying that the floor would split and swallow her whole. Should have gone with tuck and roll.

Adrien sighed again, lowering his phone. “I guess I shouldn’t hope that you didn’t hear that.”

The carpet refused to acknowledge her desires with even the smallest chasm, and she felt a passing wave of resentment towards it. “Uh. I’m sorry?” Frowning, she lifted the schedule, looking for an out from the horrible awkwardness shoved upon her. Whatever tools she needed to handle this conversation were _not_ in her repertoire. “Just have this for you. You can look it over. If you want. It’s the schedule. For, um. Monday’s shoot.”

Her breath practically popped as she clamped her lips together, and a shadow of a smile lifted Adrien’s lips as he took the agenda from Marinette. She fidgeted as he thumbed through the packet, fingers knotting and unknotting. Catapulting from one panic to another, she wondered if the agenda was up to snuff for him, or if letting him review it just put it up for further scrutiny.

“Marinette, can I tell you something?”

Dammit. Seemed like option b was the winner. “What’s up?”

As she met Adrien’s gaze again, it was… way more intense than an agenda necessitated. “I’m going to be totally upfront with you. This editorial isn’t some sort of stunt to throw around my ego, or a gambit that I don’t feel invested in. I want this to go well.”

Puzzled, Marinette’s brow furrowed. “I know. We all want this to be successful, Adrien.”

“Right,” he emphasized, a slight lilt in his voice. “But I’m trying to tell you that I’m doing this for the right reasons. This isn’t just a joyride for me, you know?”

“I _know_.” Maybe if she was younger, Marinette would have been flustered. Maybe if this was a week ago, she would have been tongue-tied and worried about impressing him. Maybe _yesterday_. But today, she was tired, worn thin, and frazzled. The last thing she was capable of handling was Adrien having an existential crisis about their shoot.

Her tone was enough to make Adrien look taken aback, eyes slightly wide. Biting back her frustrations, Marinette’s tone smoothed out. “I know that. I know you, and I know this is going to be a success on Monday.”

“Do you?”

After a serrated breath, Marinette chose to interpret that as a question towards her third statement.

“I do.”

Up to him to decide which she meant, though.

It was apparently enough. There was a flash of teeth as Adrien grinned. “Thanks for this.” He waved the agenda in the air, turning back towards his office, calling to her over his shoulder. “See you at the bar in an hour!”

As the door shut, Marinette grimaced. Socializing with coworkers while she was exhausted. Perfect. After the endless barrage of drama and stress this week, she deserved a drink.

___

Drinking had been a bad idea after all.

Once her department had trickled over to the bar around the corner from the office, it didn’t take much time for Adrien’s suddenly improved mood and her teammates’ predisposition towards lushness to turn one well-deserved drink into a short story on irresponsibility. A chardonnay turned into a gin and tonic, which turned into Justine insisting she had to try her favorite cocktail, which then turned into Marinette fighting with Adrien _again_ over the virtues of French versus Italian wine, with Justine swapping sides regularly to rile up the debate. The event turned raucous in short order, and before long Marinette was buzzed.

Maybe it wasn’t the best management choice to get on the onramp towards drunk her first week as boss to most of the people currently inhabiting the bar, but she felt like she had nothing to worry about. It felt good to unwind, even though she had been reluctant to go out in the first place. It was a small victory after a hell week to survey the group, to see Grace and Edmond heckling one another into doing shots, Justine grilling Adrien for god knows what, and Renée and Lucie…

Wait, where were they?

The warm fog of alcohol thoroughly had Marinette in its grasp when her work phone chimed again, a tiny light indicating that she had a new email. She thumbed in her passcode, squinting against the harsh light as she scanned her email.

And then scanned it again.

“ _Shit_.”

Her curse was loud enough to ping half of their party, including Adrien. He piqued his eyebrow at her in question.

She did _not_ have the capacity to properly respond. Instead, she extended her work cell phone to the image of Adrien swimming in her vision, who took it from her clumsy fingers.

There was a long pause as Adrien read - long enough for Marinette to bury her head in her hands in an effort to keep the room around her and her life to keep from spinning out of control.

“Thomas Henry is withdrawing his pieces from the shoot on Monday?”

Instead of answering with words, Marinette groaned.

“ _What?_ ” Grace’s scandalized gasp was enough for the entire group to become laser-focused on the crisis at hand. “But his gown was one of our featured pieces!”

“That’s… a problem.” Adrien’s lips were turned into a moue of distaste.

“ _Yeah_ , it is.” Marinette resisted the urge to scream as she untangled her face from her spasming hands. “That was our two page spread. He called Lucie before she could come here to say that he had _changed his mind_.”

Marinette worked at _Vérité_ long enough to know why. He had been a longtime favorite of the magazine, and even her half-inebriated brain could slide around the facts enough to understand. He hadn’t been loyal to the magazine - he was favored by Camille, and was likely withdrawing his support because of her.

“What are we going to do?” Edmond’s distressed voice pulled her out of her angry train of thought.

As unruffled as ever, Adrien tapped his chin as he handed back Marinette’s phone. “None of the other pieces feel like they’d fit the two page spread. Should we shuffle around the layout? Forgo the two page?”

The gravity of the situation was starting to burn off some of her tipsiness, and Marinette took note of the tension around Adrien’s eyes, belying the calm in his voice.

“No.” The whole team looked up at her emphatic disagreement. “We’re not doing that. We’re not going to change the editorial.”

Justine was the sole scowl among a group of confused frowns. “Uh, Mari. I love the positive affirmations, but we needed a piece like Henry’s to anchor down the whole thing. What are we going to do without it?”

Feeling anger-fueled determination, she shoved her phone into her purse. “I’ll _figure it out._ I’ll update you guys tomorrow on what we’re going to do.” She was met with a group of muted nods as she tromped out of the bar, practically muttering out of her breath as she walked outside.

The breeze was bracing enough to further knock her out of her stupor, or at least enough for walking to the corner and starting to hail a cab to seem less daunting. The streets looked vacant of taxis, and she shivered as she felt her blood boil.

This was just another stupid, frustrating roadblock towards the success of her department - or even her own success as the new editor. The email from Lucie had gone on to quote Thomas, how he had disparaged the magazine’s current turn, even though last week he had been jumping to collaborate. The idiotic politics were so beyond her sometimes it drove her out of her mind. Why they should have to panic because of the prissy will of one designer was completely _absurd_. She just had to figure out how she was going to take care of this.

“Marinette!” The sound of her name being called jostled her out of her cloud of irritation, and she lowered her arm and turned to see Adrien jogging out of the bar, pulling on his suit jacket. To his credit, he didn’t seem winded in the slightest. “You ran out of there so quickly, I didn’t get a chance to hear what your plan is.”

If there was one way to temper her awkward attraction to Adrien, it was the undue demands of this one project. Adrien’s relaxed demeanor only served to wind up her frustration. Marinette took a breath, dialing back whatever irritated response she wanted to default to. “Well. I don’t exactly have one yet. I was going to go try to sort that out.”

“Ah, okay. Let me help you, in that case. We’re a team, right?”

The declaration made all negative emotion drain out of Marinette, leaving her feeling begrudgingly resigned. Her rancor couldn’t hold up in the face of his relentlessly stubborn optimism, and her lingering inebriation left her a few mental faculties short of being able to keep up an argument. “You don’t have to. I was just going to go back to the office and try to come up with something.”

“The office? I know this is a fire drill, but let’s not be extreme here.” The Cheshire-like grin on his face would normally be attractive, but instead was a harbinger of doom in this moment. “The bar is too loud to get any thinking done, so why don’t we go to another place to eat? Or my place?”

Those three words were enough to make her choke on her breath. As much as the lustre of having Adrien back was starting to wear thin with the stress of the week, their ‘business dinner’ from earlier that week was evidence enough that she wasn’t going to be able to withstand the anxiety of being in his personal space. She had to avoid that at all costs. If that was ruled out, and if the office was a no-go, then -

“Why don’t we go to mine instead?”

Apparently, alcohol made her ego fall asleep on the job, leaving her id to wreck shop and make her blurt out the most inappropriate suggestion. She smiled to mask a grimace, her voice sounding too-loud and forcefully peppy as Adrien looked slightly taken aback. “It isn’t too far, and we can review the few available designers we haven’t tapped for the spread yet. I think I have some leftover baked goods from my family’s bakery, too.”

His bemusement turned into a smile. “Are you sure? That sounds good to me.”

Her brittle smile remained glued onto her face, her inner voice screaming in rage as she started to hail a cab. “Awesome.” A taxi rolled up to the curb, and her inner voice let out one last wail of despair as she gestured to the vehicle. “After you.”


End file.
